


Perfect Boys with Their Perfect Lives

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - No Band, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Romance, Attempt at Humor, BBB 2017, Bandom Big Bang 2017, Banter, Birthday, Blow Jobs, Board Games, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gardening, Hand Jobs, Joe Trohman/Marie Trohman - Freeform, Light Bondage, M/M, Musical References, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Star Wars References, Supernatural Elements, Very Light!, currants, grumpy patrick, lots of good-natured arguing, vegan!Andy, walking the dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-09 07:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 55,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: He meets Joe in Borders looking at the week’s new music, and notices when he leaves the faint smell of charred wood. Eventually he meets Patrick and Andy, Joe’s roommates and they become fast friends...and it’s easy enough to ignore the strange occurrences here and there.That is, until one day they’re playing Monopoly and in a fit of frustration Joe lights the board on fire, only to have Patrick summon water from somewhere and extinguish it. That's when things get really exciting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends!! Thanks for stopping by! I'm so excited that I got to participate in BBB this year! This story has been brewing in my head for...oh the better part of eight months, and I want to give a HUGE bucket of thanks to @Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace for absolutely enormous amounts of cheerleading and for being not just my beta but an amazing friend. This story wouldn't exist without you, my dear, so thank you! <3
> 
> There's a bit of recreational drug use and a bit of language in this story, so be warned! There's also a brief mention of a past suicide attempt, and struggles with anxiety/panic attacks. Please be safe my dears, if any of that isn't something you're ready to read about, click back with my love! 
> 
> ALSO, since this is BBB! The amazing @solikethesea made some INCREDIBLE art for this story!! Thank you my friend!! Please click over and leave some love!!!! You can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12317622) on ao3, and rebloggable [here](https://destinylaughing.tumblr.com/post/166227887132/aaaaaaand-here-it-is-my-work-for-the-2017-bandom) on tumblr

 

It had all started in a Borders…he had been haunting it like he usually would on Fridays, the day after they usually got their shipment of new stuff. While examining the new releases in the Hard Rock and Metal section, he heard a derisive _dude, come on!_ and turned around ready to seriously _reeducate_ someone on  _whatever_. Instead, he saw a guy with a huge curly ‘fro glaring at an album on the shelf, picking it up and turning it over to examine the back.

 

“What’s wrong with New Found Glory _?”_ Pete couldn’t help himself—that band was fucking perfection, if you asked him.

 

“Nothing’s _wrong_ . It just fuckin’ blows me away that people can think this is pop, when it’s clearly punk, like come on.” The guy gives him a look that says _I’m starting to lose faith in humanity_ but with a kind of accepting inevitability that made Pete laugh as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

 

“Hey, no argument from me. That’s like one of my top five bands, dude.” The guy’s blue eyes light up, and soon he’s deep into conversation with this guy—Joe—who is talking a blue streak in the most laid-back way Pete’s ever seen…passion and _meh_ in equal quantities. Almost like he was so sure of his opinion it didn’t matter if Pete agreed with him and he can’t help but admire that.

 

Pete’s in the middle of yammering about the future of rock and punk, when Joe’s phone beeps obnoxiously. He pulls it out, sees something and shoves it back in his pocket hurriedly. “Fuck dude, I didn’t realize what time it was, you had me rolling like only my buddy Patrick does! I’ve gotta run…maybe we’ll see each other around, yeah?” With that, Joe goofily fist-bumped him and scampered out of sight.

 

Pete shrugged and turned back to the rows of music. _Weird guy…but also kinda awesome._ The gentle scent of campfire wafted unexpectedly around him, and he sniffed at it for a second before it was gone.

 

~//~

 

It was a bright _it's-almost-summer_  morning a couple weeks later when Pete decided to be a good Dog Dad for once and actually take Hemmingway out. He looked up online where a dog park was, and ten minutes later they were off, Hemmy’s jowls flapping as he stuck his head out the window and snuffed at the blowing wind. They tumbled out and into the dog park, where Hemingway immediately began sniffing around and urinating on everything in sight. Pulling out his phone, Pete checked his snapchat and smiles at some of the ridiculous filters people used. Looking up after a while, he noticed that Hemingway had parked himself next to a guy sitting on a bench in the shade, and he shook his head as he moved that way.

 

“Hey Hemmy, you make a friend?” He smiles at his dog and then is momentarily awestruck as he meets eyes with the guy who is currently his dog's new favorite person. Pale skin, gorgeous blue eyes behind blocky glasses, full plump lips…and with a start, Pete realized that those lips were making _words_ , and they were directed at _him_.

 

“—name’s Hemmy? That’s an interesting choice.”

 

“Oh, yeah, it’s lazy-speak for Hemingway.” Pete slaps a grin on his face in the hope the guy won’t realize that he wasn’t really listening for the beginning there. “I mean, _A Movable Feast_ is one of my favorite books, so I figured it was as good a name as any.”

 

“That’s one of my favorite books too!” The cute guy’s eyes light up and a gorgeous smile splits his face as he pushed his glasses up his nose a bit, and Pete wanted to pump his fist in triumph. _Well read, gorgeous AND a dog person. This guy is too perfect._

 

They talk about literature and the changing American dialogue as Hemingway roots around the base of the tree, sniffing and huffing. A small brown mop of a dog trots over to them and hops up easily into the guy’s lap.

 

“Who’s this?” Pete smiled at the dog’s intelligent but kind eyes, noticing the way his hot new best friend smiled indulgently at the small bundle.

 

“Her name’s Molly. She’s the only girl for me.” Pete hoped it wouldn’t be weird and sat down, holding out his hand for Molly to sniff. She took a distrusting whiff and looked at him with guarded eyes before looking back up at her owner. He smiled and she seemed content, and nuzzled Pete’s hand.

 

“What a sweetheart.” She had surprisingly soft fur. “What kind of dog is she?”

 

“A cockapoo, I think. I got her from the shelter so we don’t really know for sure.”

 

Nodding, Pete smiled and inclined his head at the T-shirt under the guy’s cardigan. “Bowie, huh?”

 

The guy’s eyes _lit_ up like Christmas lights and he started yammering about _artistic influences in modern culture_ and _unprecedented showmanship_ and Pete was caught up in an unintentional dissertation on the genius of David Bowie.

 

“I see you met Patrick.” Looking up, Pete saw the guy from the bookstore standing next to him.

 

“Hey dude! Joe, right?”

 

“Yeah, bro.” The guy looked inordinately pleased that he remembered his name. “Didn’t I tell you that Patrick could talk a blue streak about music?”

 

The hot guy— _Patrick_ —blushed and shrugged. Pete thought he was in love with the soft flush that spread across his cheeks as he replied. “Well, Bowie deserves to be talked about if you ask me.” Molly jumped off his lap and ran over to where Hemingway was lazing around the base of the tree, and a moment later the two of them started sniffing and playing as the humans talked for a while. Or rather, Patrick talked and Pete listened with half an ear as he tried to figure out a way to see Patrick again without being the creepy dog park guy—and then his attention was fully arrested when a truly insane came out of Patrick’s gorgeous mouth.

 

“Wait, did you seriously just say _The Offspring_ is better than _Saves the Day_?” He cocked a critical eyebrow at Patrick. “Cause that would just be horrible taste on your part.”

 

“Here we go…” Joe muttered as Patrick’s chin rose a few centimeters.

 

“Yeah, I absolutely said that because it’s true. Have you heard their first single, _I’ll Be Waiting_? It’s inspired.”

 

Shaking his head violently, Pete threw an imploring look at Joe. “Dude, back me up here. _Saves the Day_ is like the literal best punk band in the world. Their sound is like nothing else and their lyrics are fucking _amazing. The Offspring_ wasn’t even _good_ until _Smash_ came out!”

 

Joe held up his hands in a pose of defeat when Patrick’s brow furrowed as he shot back with. “You’re crazy. Their first two albums _define_ the sound that made them so successful with _Smash.”_

 

 _“_ I’m seriously having to re-think my opinion of you Patrick.” Pete grinned at him with what he hoped wasn’t a creepy grin, noting distantly the sky was darkening a bit and the wind was starting to pick up. Strange—the forecast for today had been all sunshine and butterflies. “You seemed like the most perfect guy in the world before _that_ nonsense came out of your mouth.”

 

“ _No way_.” Patrick shook his head violently. “You’re nuts, there’s no way that you can tell me—“

 

“Alright, calm your rockets, Astro Blaster.” Joe gave Patrick a look, and something passed between them that Pete didn’t quite catch. “We should probably leave before it starts raining, but we can settle this the easy way. Pete, come on over this weekend and listen to Patrick’s prized record and if your life isn’t changed for the better, he’ll get you a pizza.”

 

“Fine as long as you bring Hemmy, since our dogs are apparently best friends.” He fixed Pete with a stare that would have frozen water if it wasn’t on the world’s most gorgeous face ever. “But I guarantee you’ll see reason once you have all the facts.”

 

Grinning bigger than he probably should, Pete held out his phone. “Deal, put your number in. But I expect a _good_ pizza when you lose. Like with sausage and pepperoni and mushrooms and shit.” Taking it, Patrick typed and handed it back, standing up. Pete noted with pleasure that he was actually just an inch or two taller than him, and he couldn’t help but think that was even _more_ perfect. _“_ I’ll text you so you have my number and we can set this up. I’m always a fan of being proved right.”

 

With a low whistle, Patrick called Molly over to his side and gave Pete an adorably confident, slightly-evil grin. “We’ll see about that.”

 

~//~

 

That Saturday, Pete got a text from an unknown number. He opened it and it simply said, _4:30pm, 1112 Hester Lane, Evanston_ . _I like olives, pepperoni and green peppers if you want to save time and order ahead._ He smiled, saving the number as _Patrick_ with a few red-faced angry emoji’s and a couple musical notes after the name and went to get dressed. At four-thirty he pulled up to a modest two-story with a large porch buttressed by two wide columns, vines growing over much of the surface and a meticulous garden covering half the front yard. He knocked and Joe opened the door, smiling and ushering him in with an enthusiastic back-slap. Once they were inside, he bent and undid Hemingway’s leash just as Molly barreled into the entryway—the dogs were delighted to see each other, scampering off to play as Patrick pulled out his 7” of the song and Pete had realized how wrong he was. Joe had watched with a bemused expression and laughed as he went to order pizza.

 

“Make sure you get half of one of them vegan for Andy!” Patrick called and Pete cocked an eyebrow.

 

“Andy?”

 

Pulling his glasses off, Patrick nodded as he cleaned them on the hem of his shirt. “Yeah, he’s our other roommate. Super cool guy, straight edge vegan but the most badass person I know.” Pete shrugged, but later as they all shared mouthfuls of cheesy goodness he realized that he really liked these guys.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of language in this chapter, friends...just a heads up! <3

 

More and more weekends found Pete at the house on Hester Lane, hanging out with his new friends. He would help Andy in the garden and listen to him talk about some pretty crazy ideas that made Franz Kalfka sound optimistic and cheerful as they weeded and trimmed and pruned. There were many Friday nights filled with pizza and beers (though nobody but Pete ever seemed to quite ever get past one or two) and watching shitty horror movies and throwing their crusts at the screen when the main character did something stupid that got them killed. When he felt brave (or just more than a little buzzed) he would wind himself around Patrick, declaring that he couldn’t handle the suspense as the blood flowed and the gore mounted. Nobody called him a faggot or a freak, and Patrick grumbled good-naturedly that humans didn’t generally have eight arms, but he never pushed him away. 

 

Some Saturdays they would all go to dark bars in Chicago’s old neighborhoods and listen to bands that were either spectacularly bad or horribly good, music thrumming through their veins like molten lead. Some Sundays, Pete and Patrick would take Molly and Hemingway on long walks, talking about music and life and books and movies and whatever else they thought of. Those Sundays were his favorite, if he was being honest—Patrick was the best company he could imagine and _oh so_ _opinionated_. He loved watching him get riled up as he argued with him about this or that, defending his viewpoint like a bulldog guarding a bone. His eyes would shine and flare with passion as he argued or lectured or disagreed and Pete _loved_ it. He tried to not wonder compulsively if Patrick was into guys or where he was in relation to the line between _friendly_ and _flirting,_ but more often than not he would find himself contemplating the subject. Patrick never spoke much about his family or his past relationships, only to say that he wasn’t seeing anyone…their discussions seemed to dwell on current topics, current pursuits. But that was alright—they had more than enough opinions to go around.

 

Sometimes he noticed strange things--occurrences that weren't  _ quite _ normal or things he couldn’t _totally_ explain but they seemed close enough to a misunderstanding or misconception that he largely ignored them. 

 

Like the time that Joe was smoking a blunt on the back porch as they sipped some weird artisan beer that claimed to be made with the essence of bacon and his blunt  _ burst  _ into flames when he laughed at some particularly humorous story of Pete’s about a CPR mannequin and a Burger King paper crown. 

 

Or when Andy showed him his book collection crammed all over his bedroom in hand-me-down bookcases and piled in stacks that came up to his waist. Pete had walked in and the first thing he had noticed was that the room smelled like  _ pine _ . Like a forest had hit in him the face but there wasn’t a scented candle to be seen. He shrugged it off as his eyes lit on a comic book collection that would rival his own, and they spent the rest of the afternoon yammering about the new Captain America arc. 

 

Also noteworthy was the time that Joe had started yelling bloody murder in the shower when Pete and Patrick had been arguing about which Michael Jackson album was  _ the  _ best. Not just good, or groundbreaking, but the true pinnacle of his musical genius. Patrick had run into the bathroom, eyes wide in concern and thrown the door open to a  _ ridiculously  _ steamed up bathroom, moisture curling through the air like smoke. Pete heard something about  _ keep it in your goddamn pants you fucking idiot!  _ and  _ turn it the hell down, I’ve got second degree burns on my fucking ass cheeks you dick!!  _ Patrick had done something weird with his hands, but Joe’s screaming stopped abruptly, a gift for Pete’s rapidly deteriorating eardrums…only for the faucet to somehow spontaneously erupt. Letting out a yelp Patrick reached for it, and Pete would have sworn that the water started to ebb  _ before _ his hands touched the handles…but maybe not. Maybe that was just the way it looked through all the condensation.

 

But then it all came into focus rather  _ spectacularly _ one night when they were playing high-stakes Monopoly, the winner getting to pick the movie.

 

The Monopoly board in front of them was blackened and twisted, ash dripping off onto the carpet as the water flowed from the burnt surface. He stared at it, trying to remember exactly what had happened, and in what order. His mind flashed backward to Joe, arguing passionately with Andy that you could not count a blatantly fixed dice roll like that. Before Andy could even disagree, he had jumped to his feet, made a dismissive gesture with his hand and the board  _burst into flames_.

 

“Joe!” Patrick had jumped up, shrieking his friend’s name. He made a strange twisting motion with both his hands and water shot out from between his palms and doused the burning board, sloshing across the coffee table, before both of them had turned their heads with almost theatrical expressions of shock and chagrin on their faces to meet his stunned gaze.

 

“What the _actual_  fuck?” Pete realized his voice had come out a bit higher than normal, and that he was standing...but that was understandable considering the circumstances, right? He had known these guys for six months and he really liked hanging out with them! But this? Andy was smirking, watching the three of them with more than a little interest but with his trademark unflappable calm intact. Pete’s mind flicked over everything that had led him to this point, the last months of friendship (and his burgeoning crush on Patrick) flickering into focus as he realized that something was seriously _off_. Like something _not normal..._

 

“Ummmm…yeah.” Patrick looked like he had just been caught slipping candy to a hyperactive toddler.  “Maybe you should sit down?” Obligingly, Pete decided that was probably a good idea, and sat on the couch and glared.

 

Haltingly, Patrick explained and Pete felt like his head was either going to explode or he was going to laugh until his lungs fell out.  _ Apparently _ his three new best friends weren’t just three normal dudes who were all sharing a house. They were something called  _ Elementals. _

 

“So wait, you’re like…witches?” 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Girls are witches dummy, so if we were, we’d be wizards. But no, we’re not. Have you ever heard of Sagani?”

 

“I’m guessing that’s not a type of noodle?” Pete gave a nervous little laugh as Patrick shook his head and tried to hide his smile.

 

“No. We’re…it’s kind of complicated. We don’t do magic, it’s nothing like that. We’re just…our kind can control the four elements—air, water, earth and fire—we can shape them and influence them. Some cultures call us Elementals, the Greeks called us Sagani, the Irish called some of us Will-O-Wisps or Faries.” 

 

Andy grinned. “It’s the closest thing to being a Jedi in real life, bro.” 

 

Rubbing his neck like working out the sudden knot would somehow make this whole thing make sense, Pete looked at them all in turn—first Andy, then Joe, then back to Patrick. “So…you control…the elements.” He looked at the Risk board. “Joe, I’m guessing you’re into fire?” 

 

A wide grin split Joe’s face. “Yeah dude!” He snapped his fingers and a small flame appeared above his upraised thumb. “You can call me the Human Torch if that’s easier?” Pete couldn’t help but laugh at that.

 

“Pass, thanks. Patrick, you’re water?” 

 

Nodding with something like bashfulness on his face, Patrick moved his hands so his palms were facing each other, spread about six inches apart in front of him and spun them in a quick, circular motion. A sphere of what looked like mist or fog appeared between them, slowly shrinking until it became a floating ball of water about the size of a tennis ball. He spread his fingers quickly in a sharp gesture and the ball seemed to vanish. Pete nodded, and looked at Andy. 

 

“And what about you? I guess there’s only air and earth left, unless you’re a copycat?” 

 

Andy shook his head. “Before I tell you, Patrick’s going to tell you his little extra-special side-effect.” He gave the pale-skinned man a significant look, and Patrick’s bashful look blossomed into full-out embarrassment. 

 

“I kind of…affect the weather? Sometimes?” 

 

Pete gave him a look. “Are you asking me or telling me?” Shaking his head, Patrick wiped his hand over his face and glared half-heartedly at Andy. 

 

“I _can_ affect the weather, particularly when my emotions are really strong.” Pete looked at him and Patrick examined the tops of his socked feet with more dedication than most people gave their SAT tests.

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, this is just getting stupid.” Joe rolled his eyes and threw one of the throw pillows from the couch at Patrick’s head, which he absolutely didn't doge with any degree of success. “Pete, you remember when you met Patrick at the dog park, and you guys were arguing about  _ The Offspring _ and it started to get breezy and looked like rain?” He made a flamboyant twisting motion with his wrist and pointed at Patrick, like a magician displaying the rabbit he had just pulled from a hat, and finally Pete got it. 

 

“You did that??” He looked to where Patrick was pointedly examining his fingernails…but then his eyes flicked up and met Pete’s, and he was surprised to see something beyond his usual feisty humor. It was something guarded but also bare and vulnerable, a little bit of misery alongside bashfulness as he nodded. 

 

Shrugging, Pete made a dismissive gesture. “Pretty cool. Can you make it snow?” 

 

“It’s  _ August _ asshole, I’m pretty sure people would notice a sudden blizzard.” Patrick’s voice was comfortingly annoyed, and Pete grinned. 

 

“Well shit, fine. So if we’re going with X-Men references, you’re Storm, which is great ‘cause she is  _ fine as hell _  just like you _ ,  _ and Joe is Pyro. So Andy, who are you in Professor Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters?” 

 

Chuckling, Andy waved his hand in a gesture that reminded Pete of a Jedi using the Force -- _that's seriously_   _so cool_ part of his mind crowed--and daisies sprouted up from the blackened and soaked Risk board. 

 

“Earth.” Andy said and Pete bobbed his head, impressed at the show of Elemental unity currently displayed on the coffee table. “And no, I will not make you endless stores of weed, Joe’s already asked.” 

 

Laughing at Andy’s deadpan delivery and Joe’s mumbled  _ buzzkill _ , Pete looked around at the three of his friends who were suddenly staring at him expectantly. “What?”

 

“Are you going to freak out now?” Patrick asked quietly, and Pete was struck with the way he sounded just a little afraid. 

 

“Or ask us to perform at your next talent show?” 

 

“Sell the sordid story to the highest-bidding magazine?” 

 

“Write a blog?” They all threw the ridiculous possibilities at him like they had heard them all before, and he wondered how many people they had had this conversation with before. 

 

“Ummm….none of the above? I’m just not going to bring my xbox over to play Super Smash Brothers because I don’t want it burned or sprouted or doused, that’s all.” He grinned at the relief on their faces. “How many people have you told about this?” 

 

Joe shrugged. “Not that many…nobody’s taken it this well before, though.” 

 

“If I had run to the  _ New York Times  _ would you have like killed me or something?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow, and Patrick shook his head. 

 

“No, we just would have called an Air Elemental and he would have made you forget this whole thing.” 

 

“Uhh okay, creepy?” He looked around. “Do you just have one of those on speed dial or do you have a fourth roommate I’ve never noticed?” 

 

“Nah.” Patrick smiled. “Air Elementals kinda keep to themselves, plus they usually like to stay invisible. Not real big into mingling.” 

 

“Hmmmph.” Pete looked at them, then down at Molly who was sitting at Patrick’s feet with an alert expression, like she could sense that her owner was on edge. “Is Molly like your familiar or something? Does she help you channel your magic?” 

 

Patrick huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “No, she’s probably the most normal one here.” 

 

“Oh good.” Pete held out his hand and Molly flounced over, sniffing it and then looking up at him with dark eyes as he scratched her head. “Glad you aren’t actually a werewolf, Molly Lollie.” He looked back up at his friends and blew out a breath. “So…is this normal? All of you guys kinda living together like this?” 

 

Andy let out a short, high laugh. “Not at all. We’re kinda…misfits.” He pointed to Joe. “Fire Sagani are really volatile and angry, huge temper tantrums and feuds. That’s actually how Rome burned, but Joe is pretty much the most chill guy ever.” Joe shrugged and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Water Sagani are known for being the mediators and never getting angry.” Pete laughed at Patrick’s scowl. “And obviously you can tell that’s not really Patrick’s thing. And I’m an Anarchist, but I’m also a straight-edge vegan  _ and  _ a Pacifist.” He shrugged. “My family actually started Greenpeace so…yeah, I don’t fit in there at all. So we all kinda found each other and decided to do our own thing together.” 

 

“So this is the Island of Misfit Toys, huh?” Something was growing in Pete’s chest, the ridiculous desire to  _ come clean _ , to tell a secret in return for the trust they were giving him. He didn’t have anything so crazy as being a mythical demigod to offer in their circle of honesty, but he had his own oddities, his own strangeness and undisclosed truths. He wavered, wanting to say it—partly because he felt like he should tell them that he belonged here too, on their little Island, and partly because he felt  _ safe. Maybe  _ they wouldn’t judge him, unlike his last band or his family. “That’s… cool.” He looked around and scratched his head, balanced on the knife-edge of fear and forthrightness. “Maybe that’s why I like you guys so much.” 

 

“What do you mean?” Patrick’s voice was calm, concerned, welcoming, and it swept away the last barrier holding his honesty back. 

 

“I’m not exactly…well, I’m a bit cracked, I guess.” He ran his hand through his hair and looked at the daisies, not wanting to meet any of their eyes, least of all Patrick’s. “I’ve always had stuff in my head, like an extra channel I don’t want to hear but I can’t turn it off. High school was rough, and I did a lot of dumb shit. Four years ago they said I had Bipolar? Put me on this crazy cocktail of drugs and I went kinda nuts.” He snuck a glance around the room, and none of them were quite looking at him like he had sprouted a third head, so he reached out and plucked a daisy from the table and spun it between his fingers while he talked.. “I was in some inpatient stuff for a while, kinda figured my shit out and got on the right meds. I was good for a year and then I thought I was okay, you know? I thought I didn’t need them, so I stopped taking them and went into a crazy manic thing…basically I hitchhiked across most of the midwest and slept with everything along the way. That’s when I figured out I wasn’t quite… _ straight?”  _ He said it like a question, even though it was the truest thing he knew because somehow that was easier. “Anyways, I landed in a hospital in Des Moines for exhaustion and detoxing and…yeah. I dunno, I just kinda woke up and realized I didn’t want to feel that way anymore, so I got clean and went home and came out to my parents…and they took it really bad.” He looked up and Patrick’s eyes caught his, clear and sea-green and full of compassion, and he couldn’t look away…it had been so long since he had told someone this and not seen pity in their eyes. 

 

“I’m so sorry.” Patrick’s voice was kind, and he heard the other two echo his sentiment. He nodded, feeling both miserable and ecstatic, and shrugged again. 

 

“I guess I’m just trying to say I like your Island, and it’s cool to find other misfits.” He laughed, a self-deprecating sound with a fake grin shackled to it. “At least, ones that aren’t in straightjackets.” 

 

“Well…” Joe drawled and they all laughed, the heavy moment broken and replaced with something that sparkled with words like  _ kindred _ and  _ same _ and  _ belong. _

 

“I think this calls for s’mores.” Andy said as he stood and stretched. They all tumbled to their feet, a flurry of inside jokes and cupboards banging as they found chocolate and vegan marshmallows and graham crackers. They went out the sliding glass doors to the fire pit on the patio, and Pete looked around for firewood. Instead, Patrick sidled up to him and murmured  _ watch  _ with a small smile that made his eyes sparkle. Joe took a shovel and scooped up a pile of dirt, dumping it in the metal fire pit. Andy made a twisting motion with his hands and the dirt morphed and shuddered into gnarled logs. Bending down, he picked up a few pine needles from the concrete and made a twisting, pulling motion and they elongated into sticks fit for roasting marshmallows. Pete watched all this with wide eyes, unable to hold back a low whistle as Joe made a flicking motion with both his hands and the logs burst into flames, crackling cheerily and bathing them in warmth. They pulled camp chairs from the corner and sat down, Patrick next to Pete as they stuck their marshmallows on their sticks and Joe needled Andy for making his stick too crooked and not optimized for the perfect s’more. 

 

“So…what’s your contribution to this event?” Pete looked at Patrick, unable to help but notice the way the firelight danced across his skin made him seem he was made of gold and copper, something precious. 

 

“Well…” Patrick shifted and pulled his phone from his pocket, setting it in the cupholder after fiddling a bit. Soulful blues spilled from the speakers and he grinned. “Firstly, I provide actual  _ good _ music and that’s the important part. But also fire suppression in case Joe decides to get drunk or Andy sneezes and turns the logs into a tumbleweeds.” Pete laughed at that and the night turned to music and sweets and stories and Patrick’s small smiles that Pete saw out of the corner of his eye, and it felt like  _ home _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference:
> 
> Earth: Agrossi (from tilled earth)  
> Air: Poinemosi (wind maker)  
> Water: Kinemoneri (water mover)  
> Fire: Piraidos (fire singer)  
> Nerepolesi: Sky & water (weather and water ones) 
> 
> This actually all came out of some pretty cool Greek mythology...the names I made up though :)


	3. Chapter 3

 

_ <<walk the dogs on the trail @ 2pm?>> _

 

Pete looked at the text and replied with a quick affirmative. He had woken up that morning feeling like he maybe had dreamed it all the night before, that he had taken some really bad acid without realizing it...but he knew in his heart it wasn't some creation his subconscious had made up. That didn't make it any  _ less _ crazy, though. 

 

Patrick smiled and waved from a bench as he parked and let Hemingway out. They fell into step in companionable silence, walking through the Eucalyptus trees and sprawling shrubs that scented the air perfectly.

 

"So...you rethinking that tell-all blog?" Patrick's voice was wry but without a trace of concern. 

 

"No blogging, promise. I got that out of my system back when MySpace was a thing. Lots of emo poetry that hopefully never sees the light of day." Patrick laughed at that and gave him a smile. 

 

"Well...do you have anything you want to ask? I know it was a lot to take in." 

 

Pete looked at him askance. "Did Joe and Andy put you up to this?" 

 

He shook his head, his smile taking on a hint of a grimace. "No. I volunteered. I...had the hardest time coming to grips with what we are, so I guess I have the best frame of reference for what you're probably thinking out of the three of us." He stopped and faced Pete, one hand coming up to squeeze his shoulder in what Pete hoped was him trying to be reassuring. "Seriously. I get it's a lot to take in. Ask me whatever you want, I promise I'm not going to get upset. I...we all really want you to stick around, if you want to."

 

Pete couldn't help the warmth that blossomed in his heart at that, the amazing feeling of  _ belonging _ and  _ acceptance _ . "Thanks." He smiled as earnestly as he could, putting his hand on Patrick's shoulder in a sympathetic gesture. Something shivered up his spine and he realized they were probably starting to edge out of  _comforting_ and into  _creepy._ Dropping his hand, they both resumed walking, though he could feel the ghost of Patrick's hand on his shoulder. "Well...where did you all come from? I did some googling this morning but I kept getting websites about something called Magic: The Gathering. It was very nerdy and involved orcs and mages and vampires so I figured it probably wasn't the most accurate." 

 

A low laugh came out of Patrick's throat. "Yeah...definitely not hiding a vampire in the basement, promise." He shrugged and stuck the hand he wasn't using to hold Molly's leash in his pocket. "Well...the myth goes that the original Sagani were angels that left heaven. They weren't part of Lucifer's fall, they were heralds for the four corners of the Earth and were the guardians of the elements. Basically they were the ones that made sure no catastrophe ever fully decimated the world, but they got tired of heaven and wanted to experience the world they safeguarded. So God let them leave but charged them to mingle with humanity but still protect it from disaster." Pete made a contemplative noise, and Patrick gave him a sideways grin. "At least, that's what I grew up being told."

 

"Hmmm...cute little legend." Pete smirked, unable to hold a quip back. "Is Indiana Jones going to show up soon?" 

 

Laughing, Patrick shoved him gently. "Well I guess you're not so traumatized you lost your sense of humor." 

 

"Not quite." Pete considered. "So what...what do you guys do? What do you mean you had a hard time accepting what you were?" 

 

Now a grimace spilt Patrick's face. "Some of us are a sort of roving lookouts for disasters. They kind of just travel and keep an eye on everything. The rest..." He trailed off, and Pete could sense him trying to find a way to put his feelings into words. "The Sagani are very insular. We live in...basically communes that humans never know are there." 

 

"How? I thought you said you don't do magic." Pete interrupted, suddenly confused. 

 

"We don't. But when you can control all living things, it's very easy to make the forest around your house look impenetrable." 

 

"Oh. I guess that makes sense. Wait, can all of you water people control the weather?" 

 

"First of all, that makes it sound like I’m some sort of walking water bottle. The correct term for a water elemental is Kinemoneri, it means "water mover." He readjusted his hat a bit, resettling it on his head and was silent for a stretch of the path, making Pete wonder if he had asked the wrong thing. His voice was a bit softer when he spoke finally, more hesitant. "Not many of us can control the weather. It's kind of an...oddity? But a valued one. Most of my clan expected me to become a traveling guardian." 

 

"Not your thing?" Pete asked gently, and Patrick shook his head. 

 

"No. Nerepolesi--water elementals who can control the weather like me--we only come around every couple generations or so. When I manifested, my clan was glad and then I turned out...different." 

 

Pete felt like Patrick was waiting to see if he would ask what he meant, if he would dig a bit deeper. But he _also_ could tell that, while Patrick may have meant it when he said he would answer anything, there were clearly some things he hadn't quite come to terms with himself. 

 

"So is everyone in your clan a Kinne-thing?" He could almost feel the relief in Patrick's sigh at his question.

 

"No, we have all of them." He smiled. "Okay, mini language lesson. All of our names and such are in Ancient Greek for some reason. So fire elementals are Piraidos...it means "fire singer." Earth are called Agrossi...it's one of the more literal ones...means "tilled earth." Air elementals are Poinemosi, it means "wind maker." He paused for a moment. "Nerepolesi means "sky and water," if you were wondering."

 

"Cool." It seemed like the appropriate response to a bunch of Greek words he wouldn't remember, and Patrick seemed to be good with it, barreling on.  He bent and took Molly's leash off and Pete did the same, letting the dogs play around their heels. 

 

"We're a pretty matriarchal society. It's kinda the expectation that every woman will have at least one child, to keep their line going. Some have more but everyone has at least one. Kids usually start manifesting around five or so."

 

"So is your mom a Kinemoneri too?" 

 

Patrick shook his head, smiling at Molly and Hemingway chasing each other down the path. "Nope. She's Agrossi--earth." Pete hummed. "She's very...proper. Kinda old fashioned, not like Andy at all." 

 

Something clicked into place and occurred to him, all at once. "You keep like...saying things about how each elemental is the same...so why are you three misfits?”

 

"Ummm..." Patrick trailed off and Pete wondered if this was  similarly uncomfortable territory that he had unknowingly barreled into and started to apologize.

 

"I'm sorry, you don't have to--" 

 

"No, it's fine." Patrick gave him a smile and Pete's heart felt like it skipped a beat. "It's actually kind of nice to explain it to someone." They walked in silence for a while, and Pete decided to just let Patrick lead the conversation...to say what he was comfortable with. "It's not really set in stone?" He started off, hesitating a bit around certain words, looking for the right phrase. "But it's definitely a bit...see, each Element is usually accompanied by certain traits. We all have our own personalities, but most also have a lot of...commonalities. So Agrossi like Andy are usually very calm, very serene, kinda the dreamers. They value beauty and are known to be the most directly involved with humans. They tend to seek our ways to help. Andy is...well, he's an anarchist, for one. Not a common viewpoint among the Agrossi, but he's also a pacifist and a bit of a lone wolf. He kinda likes to just do his thing, and he also loves heavy metal music and is really into the punk scene." He laughed a bit. "They're also known to be pretty intense tokers sometime. Always smoking something...and Andy's straightedge." He smiled, eyes lost in the past. “He was one of my best friends since...well since I can remember.”

 

They reached a bench and Patrick nodded towards it. Sitting down, he set his hat next to him and ran his hand through the fine copper strands of his hair. Pete had to remind himself not to reach out and do the same, as much as he wanted to. "Joe is the pothead among the three of us." He gave Pete a grin that was half ashamed, half mischievous. "Not that I don't light up now and then with him. But anyways, Piriados--they're usually quick tempered and stubborn to a fault. They're the protectors of our clans, and they also usually don't make friends outside the other Fire elementals. Joe's like...the total polar opposite of that. He's the friendliest person in the world to everyone, he almost never gets angry and he can't hit the broadside of a barn if his life depended on it." 

 

Patrick murmured to Molly as she came over and hopped up to lay next to him, moving his hat in a hurry before she sat on it. Absently he petted her, stroking her fur and Pete was torn. He wanted to know what was so different about Patrick, but he also didn't want to make him say anything he wasn't comfortable with saying. He was still battling when he spoke again, settling his internal debate for him. 

 

"I...I'm kind of a misfit all around." He said, and Pete's heart ached at the sadness in his voice. "I manifested really late...not until I was nine. But then it happened finally and everyone thought I was a Poinemosi--Air--but just...a weird one that wasn't very good at it. But then when I turned thirteen, I started to manipulate water and we figured out I had never been affecting the air, just the weather. That's when everyone realized I was Nerepolesi. It was nice to finally know, but it brought a lot of..." He pursed his lips and Pete wanted to take his hand, to comfort him. "I went from being teased all the time for being a shitty Air Elemental to being whispered about for being an ACTUAL freak. Kids are assholes." He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets.. "But...I guess I never fit in anyways. I was always getting into fights and I didn't really have any friends other than Andy, and--" he laughed mirthlessly, "--girls either weren't interested in a guy who was shorter and always had a black eye, or they were so weirded out by me being different that they just stayed away. By the time I figured out I didn’t like girls, I’d pretty much given up on finding someone." Pete felt his heart claw its way up from his toes where it had fallen when he thought he'd been misinterpreting everything, that Patrick was totally straight. But now, rather than jumping up to dance in a circle, he felt a sympathetic pang. 

 

"You're not out to your...clan?" 

 

He shook his head. "Sagani are very old-fashioned, and...yeah, my mom doesn't even know. It didn't seem worth it to give everyone another reason to think I wasn't good enough." 

 

"I’m...really sorry." Pete wanted to go yell at all of these people for not seeing what an incredible person Patrick was, for not embracing all of him--talents, flaws, orientation, fiery temper and all. “I totally get it though. I mean, coming out to my family was pretty rough, my dad still barely talks to me and my mom just looks sad.” 

 

Patrick gave him a look, and then  _ reached out and settled his hand on Pete’s knee _ . He tried desperately to remember to breathe. “I’m really sorry.” 

 

Giving Patrick what he hoped was an understanding-yet-here-for-you-but-also-OMG-I’m-so-into-you smile, Pete settled his hand on top of Patrick’s and squeezed. 

 

“At least we’re all misfits together.” 

 

They stared at each other for just a second longer, eyes questioning and smiles soft on their lips. Then Hemingway came over and butted his nose under Pete’s hand, like he insisted on being petted too, if that’s what they were all doing. Both of them laughed as Molly scurried over Patrick’s lap to lick at Hemmingway’s face and Pete ruffled his dog’s ears. 

 

“So how did you guys all end up sharing the house?’

 

Rolling his shoulders, Patrick leaned back and grinned. “Oh, well Andy and I had been thinking of leaving for a while. It’s not forbidden it’s just kinda discouraged if you’re not a watcher. But then we met Joe and he wanted the same thing so we just went for it. Got the place, got jobs and here we are.” 

 

Nodding, Pete laced his fingers behind and looked up at the sky--clear blue with fluffy white clouds floating on gentle winds. But then he realized that one of them kinda looked like a tyrannosaurus rex, and looked over at Patrick. He was grinning mischievously and looking down at his hands with affected nonchalance. 

 

“Like it?” 

 

“Seriously. That’s so cool.” Pete smiled. “Can you make one that looks like an x-wing?” 

 

Rolling his eyes, Patrick looked up and made a spinning motion with his fingers and the T-rex dissolved into a crude starfighter. Pete crowed with joy and Patrick chuckled as the clouds dissipated.

 

“So...no freak-outs, no crazy questions or panicking?” Patrick looked over at Pete with a small smile.

 

“Nope.” Pete shook his head. “You guys are just a bit weirder now, but still cool. Good to go in my book.” Patrick’s smile blossomed into something satisfied and happy.

 

“Good. ‘Cause we kinda like you around.” 

 

Something warmed in Pete’s heart at the admission, and he realized how much he like to be around…how much he had come to value the easy companionship and acceptance that he had found with his new friends. It was...refreshing. 

 

He wondered for a moment if Patrick was going to ask about why  _ he _ was cracked, about if he was sure he wasn't crazy anymore or if he should watch for him to start organizing things by color or texture...but he didn't. They stood up from the bench and he just asked if Pete had seen the trailer for the new Ghostbusters movie and the rest of the walk was taken up with a detailed debate on which sequels actually deserved to be called  _ good _ . 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The blistering July air stirred with the barest hint of breeze as Patrick opened the door, and Pete was surprised to hear the soft undercurrent of conversation behind him. His face was scrunched up, and he beckoned Pete in with a finger held to his lips. 

 

“So I totally forgot it’s Andy’s book club night.” He shut the door quietly behind Pete, “And he’s very particular about Not Being Disturbed.” They walked into the kitchen to a morose-looking Joe. 

 

“What’s up, dude.” Pete high-fived Joe quietly, who looked up from his slump at the kitchen table with a smile. “Broooooo, we’ve got enough people now! Let’s play Risk!” He ran a hand his curly hair, pulling it back onto the top of his head in a twist that Pete knew from experience would fall out as soon as he moved. “It’ll be totally rad without Andy to take it all serious and anarchist and shit.” 

 

Patrick gave Pete an inquiring look, and he shrugged in response. “I’m  _ game _ if you are.” He waggled his eyebrows at Patrick and prodded him with his elbow as he laughed at his own pun, and Patrick only responded by rolling his eyes and slapping him in the back of the head. 

 

“That was horrible.” He picked up his beer and fished one out of the fridge for Pete, and then gestured. “Well, let’s go dominate the world then.” 

 

“I love the way you say  _ dominate _ .” Pete whispered as they snuck past the living room, and he stifled a laugh at the way Patrick bristled and blushed at the same time.

 

~//~

 

Three hours and, in Pete’s case, five beers later, the end was near. Joe had long-since been defeated and fallen out of the game, heading to bed with a dubious  _ try not to murder each other _ . Patrick and Pete’s armies were almost evenly-distributed across the map--Patrick had North and South America along with Europe, and Pete held Africa, Asia, and Australia. Their armies were built up in a skirmish along the borders of Afghanistan and Western Europe, and they were only really trading armies at each roll, repairing any damage done by the next turn. 

 

“Alright, how about this.” Pete gave Patrick a squinty-eyed face made even more comical by his halfway-inebriated state. “We roll the dice while doing handstands, to make it more challenging?” Patrick shook his head and laughed, and he moved on to another idea for how to end the game. “Oookay, how about we lose a piece of clothing for every time we lose a battle...most modest loses?” He grinned at Patrick’s shocked face. “Aha! That means I’m gonna win ‘cause I have  _ no _ problem with my birthday suit, Pattycakes!” 

 

“Absolutely not.” Patrick gave him a look that tried to be severe but that failed by the blush and the intrigued look in his eyes. “Let’s just say...five more rolls each and then we call the winner.” 

 

Pete agreed and they took their turns--each counting up their remaining armies.

 

“Two hundred seventeen.” Patrick said, and Pete gave him a wide grin. 

 

“Two hundred…” He paused for dramatic impact, drumming his hands on his knees. “Twenty-one!” Throwing his hands in the air, he flopped down on the bed dramatically, kicking his feet on the bed and letting out a truly horribly-executed evil cackle. 

 

Patrick grumbled, sweeping the pieces into the box and flopping down next to Pete, blowing out his breath in a huff. “I demand a rematch, because I still think that you totally cheated on that dice roll when you won Afghanistan.” He looked over at Pete and tried to glare but found his breath stolen away by the colors he saw in his eyes...and he wondered for the thousandth time if Pete knew how beautiful he was, how his personality shone bright and amazing, that he was  _ perfect _ . 

 

“Huh?” Patrick’s eyes darted down to where Pete’s mouth was moving, and he pulled himself from his musings as best he could. 

 

“I said, what’s going on in that brain of yours?” Pete repeated and smiled widely at him, making his breath catch in his throat. 

 

“Mmmm…Just thinking.” He looked up at the familiar ceiling of his room, and then back to Pete. “Tell me something.” 

 

“Like what?” 

 

“I dunno.” He rolled to his side and pulled the pillow to his chest, his face half-buried in it as he considered Pete. “I’ll trade you something about me for something about you.” 

 

Brown eyes considered him right back, and for a fleeting moment Patrick wondered about the wisdom of his idea, but then Pete’s smile returned--wide and earnest. “I love this game! Okay, umm...when I was six I won the pinewood derby at my Boyscout troop with the car my dad and I made. It’s still one of my favorite memories of the two of us.” 

 

“I remember those.” Patrick lips curved up at the memory. “We used coins to weight my car to balance it better and they fell out after the first race.” He shook his head a little, like he was clearing away the cobwebs. “I read a book about sharks when I was a kid and I was terrified to go swimming in the Lake the whole summer, even though my mom kept telling me that sharks couldn’t live in freshwater.” Pete laughed at that, and Patrick realized he really liked the sound of Pete’s laugh. “Your turn.” 

 

“I like the way your eyes crinkle when you smile.” Pete’s statement was straightforward, delivered just as easily as he had told the story about the pinewood derby, Patrick felt his breath catch in his throat. 

 

“Huh?” 

 

Pete rolled his eyes. “I said, I like the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. They kinda sparkle like Santa Claus, just minus the old-man beard.” Patrick's breath felt like it froze in his chest at the utter sincerity in his voice, and he was seized by the sudden urge to  _ get away _ and his brain screaming at him  _ he doesn’t mean it, he can’t think that way about you, back out before you get hurt and you hurt him. _

 

“Sureeeee.” He drawled, rolling away, putting the pillow back towards the head of the bed and turning on the light on the nightstand before picking up the Risk box to put it back on the shelf. “Did Andy and Joe fall for that line too?” 

 

“Trick, hey.” Pete’s voice was concerned as he sat up off the bed and Patrick was struck again with how utterly unfair it was he was  _ so damn hot _ . “That wasn’t a line, I meant it. You don’t have to get mad and push everyone away.” His eyes were wide and there were lines of weight around them that made Patrick feel like there was more there under the surface. A story that wanted to come out but was afraid of the light. “Why are you so convinced that you’re not awesome?” 

 

Rolling his eyes, Patrick flicked off the bright overhead light and then flopped back down on the bed. The room was bathed in a comforting yellow glow, but he didn’t make eye contact with Pete, afraid of what he would see. What it would make him say. “It’s not something I need anyone to convince me of, just...whatever.” He blew out his breath in a huff and wondered why he was suddenly feeling so defensive, and a small voice whispered behind all the excuses he was currently streaming through his head like ticker-tape,  _ maybe it’s because you’re afraid of this. Afraid to want this, laying on the bed with someone you think just might understand you. _

 

“You know...you never asked me why I was cracked. Why I feel at home in your island of misfits.” Pete’s voice was soft, but there was something in it that made Patrick’s head roll to the side to look at him. He was staring at the ceiling now, throat working gently and Patrick opened his mouth to say something, to say  _ you’re not cracked _ , _ you’re perfect _ or to say  _ you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to… _

 

“It’s the worst thing in the world, you know, to realize you can’t trust your own brain.” Pete’s voice was soft, vulnerable, but more than anything he sounded  _ wistful _ . “You think that whatever happens, you can get through it because you’re  _ you _ , and then you realize that  _ you _ is broken, all the things that make you who you are might just be an accidental collision of chemicals that could be gone tomorrow.” He grabbed a pick from the little bowl that Patrick kept on the bookshelf and twirled it between his fingers. “The drugs were so bad, back then. I don’t know if you... _ know _ anything about antidepressants and psychotropic beta blockers, but doctors had no idea what they were doing. I felt like I was just on this roller coaster I couldn’t get off--this pill made me puke, then this pill made me sleepy, then this pill made me want to run in circles and scream. I couldn’t do it, and…I don’t hate my parents for committing me. I just wish there had been something else they  _ could  _ have done instead, you know?” He looked over, and Patrick could see the pain in his eyes. It was the worst kind of nostalgia, he knew, remembering things like that so he just nodded. Pete seemed to accept that, and he resumed his contemplation of the ceiling, spinning the pick around and around.

 

“I tried to kill myself right after they let me out...so back I went. Then after, I...I was good for so long. I thought that I was  _ okay _ . I thought maybe my brain wasn’t messed up anymore, maybe all the drugs had soaked in and sorted my fucked-up chemicals out. I knew--” He trailed off for a minute, looking at the pick between his fingers. “--I knew, once I hit rock bottom it wasn’t true, I could  _ feel _ it. I could  _ feel _ the darkness like it was dripping out of my head and seeping into all the cracks in my bones...but I just couldn’t stand the idea that I’d be fucked up forever. That I’d need a bunch of pills for the rest of myself to be  _ okay. _ ” His right hand flopped to the comforter between them, and Patrick couldn’t help but stare at it, wondering if he should reach out and cover it with his own. Pete’s voice was soft, almost timid but not quite embarrassed. “I wondered for a long time if I even was real, if Pete Wentz was real or if I was just the drugs. If all the things I thought were  _ me _ were really just some white and blue pills.” He fell silent, and Patrick just stared at his hand, debating if he should take it, if that would be too much or too forward...

 

“What did you do?” Patrick asked softly instead, and he found he  _ needed _ to know that Pete had found some sort of peace with it all. 

 

“I checked into rehab for the cocaine. I knew that was the first step in figuring it all out, because it’s really hard to think rationally when you’re high.” Pete sighed softly, eyes still staring into the past like it was floating just above them against the slanted ceiling. “Once I was clean, I read a ton of research on all the different medications. I talked to Psychologists, read every drug study I could find  _ and _ the entire DSM.” Patrick made a questioning noise, and Pete looked over and smiled him before returning his eyes to the ceiling. “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. It’s basically the Bible Of Crazy, and I read the whole thing trying to understand it, to understand what Bipolar really is.” He shrugged, and Patrick decided he couldn’t help it and slid his hand down to take Pete’s in his own. It was warm and his fingers laced together perfectly. Pete didn’t say anything, didn’t look at him...just squeezed gently as a look of peace came over his features that made Patrick’s heart unclench just a little. 

 

“In the end...I talked to this psychologist who had worked with people like me for something like forty years. I asked him about the drugs, about how they had been used and if they knew better now, if I actually was  _ something _ . He told me that the simple fact that I was asking those questions meant I was real, that I wasn’t just the cocktail of the day in my head.” His voice softened and he smiled a smile at the ceiling that seemed  _ real _ . “That’s what convinced me I was going to be okay. He told me to never stop looking for answers, because that’s how I’d know that I was real and that I knew what I was.” He turned his head and looked at Patrick full on for the first time since he’d started talking, and there was a kind of calm in his eyes that had no guards up. It was like Pete knew he was putting his heart out in the space between him, like he knew that Patrick could reach out and shatter it but he didn’t care. Like he had made his peace with whatever happened. 

 

Humming softly as he thought, Patrick ran his thumb gently over the back of Pete’s hand and admired the contrast between their skin tones. “I’m sorry you went through that. No, hey, listen--” He shushed Pete, who had started to sputter out  _ don’t want you to be sorry _ and squeezed his hand. “--I just mean that sucks no matter how you slice it, and I’m sorry you had to go through that. But I guess…” Chancing a glance up at Pete’s face, he saw the same openness and unguarded expectancy in his eyes, and he took a deep breath in. “I _do_ understand not knowing what’s inside yourself, not trusting it...and hating it because you can’t change it.” 

 

“Your super magic weather powers?” Pete’s lips quirked up in a grin Patrick couldn’t help but return along with an eye-roll, but he nodded anyways.

 

“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure what to say, but before he could get anything out, Pete was rolling to his side and facing Patrick, clasped hands still between them. Brown eyes met his own, and Patrick was momentarily struck with what he saw there--it was acceptance, a total lack of judgement. It looked like something he wanted to get lost in as words spilled from his lips. “I felt like I was a failure because of something I couldn’t control, something I never wanted...and then suddenly I was supposed to be  _ special _ and  _ know _ things and I was still just afraid of what I could do. Afraid of what I was and…” Pete squeezed his hand once, a small pulse of  _ I’m here, it’s okay _ and Patrick blew out his breath. “I guess I just understand that part.” 

 

Nodding solemnly like Patrick had just told him the codes to the Crown Jewels, Pete squeezed his hand again and smiled. “You’re pretty special, Stumph.” There was something in his eyes that made Patrick want to tell him everything, all his fears and hopes and inadequacies because he felt like his heart was caught in a magnetic grip with Pete's, like it was straining towards him gasping _ someone who understands! Someone who won’t say you’re crazy or ungrateful or stupid. Someone who KNOWS… _

 

A light knock sounded at the door and Patrick jumped out of his skin, nearly tumbling off the bed in a flurry of surprise and the strange feeling that he was bare, all his brokenness naked on display. The knob turned and Andy’s head poked through, surveying the room in a single glance and coming to rest on Patrick. “Sorry we went long, everyone’s gone now.” He gave them a smile that said at least four things at once and Patrick was too busy blushing to decipher them all. “There’s some really good vegan brownies left, if you want some.” 

 

Silence settled over the room like a blanket thrown over the bed, and Patrick sat up, rubbing his neck. Doubt over what to say danced around behind his lips and he wondered what you said after sharing things like that.

 

“I can’t say I’ve ever had a  _ vegan brownie _ .” Pete seemed to make the decision for him, rolling to sit up and stretching like a cat. He stood and headed towards the door, pulling it open carefully to make sure the screws didn’t pull out of the chronically broken knob that Patrick had sworn he was going to fix basically forever. Turning back, he gave Patrick a smile that was full of things like  _ same _ and  _ I get you  _ and  _ we’re safe with each other  _ and then left the room. 

 

Blowing his breath out in a huff, Patrick flopped back on the bed. His hand landed on something cool and smooth, and he held it up to see the pick Pete had been fiddling with between his fingers. It was bright orange with white swirls through it, reminding him impossibly of a creamsicle, and he wondered to himself what had just happened.


	5. Chapter 5

They were sitting around the living room on hot August evening, the three of the four of them smoking a joint. Andy was munching on some celery and peanut butter, and the cup never seemed to have any less celery, Pete noticed earlier, when Joe looked up and asked with the gravity of the half-stoned, “Have you guys ever heard of this thing called _bandom_?”

 

Pete looked up from where he was currently trying to beat level 57 of Soda Crush and gave Joe a look. “Huh? Whaa?”

 

“Something tells me I’m going to hate this.” Patrick mumbled from where he was buried in the couch cushions, feet on Pete’s lap with Molly on his chest.

 

“No, it’s crazy. So you know how there are bands, right?” The other three nodded and Joe took that as wholehearted encouragement to keep going. “So there’s like this whole thing out there on tumblr and stuff that like...imagines if bands were all half-gay for each other. It’s amazing!”

 

“And _why_ is that amazing?” Patrick sounded more than a bit grumpy.

 

“Dude, how can you sound that grumpy when you’re smokin’ weed?” Pete gave him a wide smile and reached out to fluff at the dog’s floppy ears. “Ollie-Ollie-Molly, your dad’s so grumpy! You know what that means?” She lifted her head and looked at him with a bored expression, but he barreled on. “It just means he needs to smoke more!” He gestured broadly. “Go on, take a hit so you can be happy with us!” Turning back to Joe once he was satisfied that Patrick had taken an appropriately long drag, Pete nestled his chin on his hands. “Now, tell me more about this. What bands?”

 

“Uhhh like…” Joe pulled his phone from his pocket and began scrolling. “ _The Academy Is…, Cobra Starship, Panic! At the Disco, My Chemical Romance--”_

 

“I would one hundred percent believe that Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross were madly in love and fucked like rabbits.” Andy spoke up, licking a glob of peanut butter from the end of the celery stick. Joe looked at him wide-eyed like he couldn’t believe he was joining in, and Patrick scowled.

 

“Not you too...”

 

Andy just gave Patrick a look and nodded as he crunched away. “Anybody else included in this pool?”

 

“ _Gym Class Heroes, Paramore, Twenty-One Pilots,_ and _All Time Low.”_ Joe finished the list and looked at them all with what could only be described as an owl’s stare--all wide-eyed. “I mean, I could see Gabe Saporta with almost anyone. That guy is gorgeous, I’m straight and okay admitting that.”

 

Pete nodded enthusiastically. “Man, you’re so right. But Gerard and Frank Iero from _My Chem_ would be my pick. Have you _seen_ how they look at each other on stage? That’s the definition of sexual chemistry!!”

 

Nodding, Joe took another drag and laid an appraising eye on Patrick. “Okay Mr. Grumpypants, who would you ship?”

 

“Can I just say nobody and pretend like this conversation never happened?” Patrick griped and Pete poked at his foot until he glared at them. “ _Fine._ Josh and Tyler are the obvious ones--they’re basically declaring their love over Twitter all the time anyways.”  Joe hooted and took another drag, puffing out an artistic ring.

 

“Atta boy, Patrick!” He crowed and Patrick responded with a begrudging grin masked by a half-hearted scowl. Pete heard Andy’s high laugh and then they were throwing out pairings left and right, Joe hooting with each one and Patrick grumbling, interjecting a passionate argument whenever someone proposed a match he thought was ridiculous.

 

Later, when they were all really and truly baked, he was glared blearily at Joe as he shook his head. “Are you _serious_ ? Gerard Way and Travie McCoy? No, _hell no_. That would be hot as fuck but it would never work.” Joe gave him a skeptical look, and Patrick shook his head vehemently. “I’m pretty sure Pete and I are the only ones in the room that have ever fucked a dude, so yes, I’m telling you, it would be awkward as fuck. Gerard would have his face in Travie’s belly button the whole time!”

 

“Waiiiiiittt a minute.” Pete slapped at Patrick bonelessly, interest piqued at both the thought of Patrick topping _and_ at his comment. “I’ll give you it would be awkward but I have _faith_ they could make it work. But hot as fuck? Why?”

 

With a shrug of his shoulders that looked like a wave rolling through his body, Patrick’s head lolled to the side and he gave Pete a look that said _the answer’s obvious, idiot_. “I dunno. Gerard’s so pale, and Travie’s skin is that awesome caramel color...they’d look hot all tangled together.” Pete could feel his eyebrows rising towards his hairline, but he couldn’t help but grin right back.

 

“Noted, Pattycakes.” He reached out and tried to tap Patrick on the nose but missed, and they both dissolved into a small fit of giggles. Molly jumped off Patrick’s chest and onto Pete’s lap, licking at his face and yapping. Joe joined in a couple heartbeats later, and soon they were all laughing and decided they _really_ needed pizza. Pete jumped up to get the menu off the fridge while desperately trying to not imagine Patrick bending him in half and pounding him into the mattress.

 

~//~

 

The following Friday, Pete got off work and decided to be brave. He had been thinking about going to see Patrick at work for a while now, curious to see how his normally moody and hot-tempered secret crush looked in _Customer Service Mode_. So he turned off of the highway one street early and headed towards Flatts and Sharpe Music Co. and pulled into a spot decently near the back of the parking lot, because come on--Super Sleuths never parked up front.

 

Opening the door under the green sign that proclaimed it was his intended location, Pete ducked inside and smiled at the burst of air-conditioned air and the smell that music stores always had...indescribable but also unique. He looked around and couldn’t help but move towards the rows of bass guitars that lined one wall, whistling under his breath at the selection. Moving on, he looked around the practice rooms and noticed that there was no cinnamon-haired, pale-skinned Sagani in any of them, and moved on. Finally, he cracked open the door to the humidity-controlled room lined from floor to ceiling with acoustics and smiled. Patrick’s head was bent over a guitar neck as he plucked a complicated pattern. But as the door opened his head shot up and he spoke.

 

“Can I help you-- _Pete?_ ” His softened tone ended on a high note as he went rapidly from rehearsed words to surprise. “What are you doing here?”

 

“You talk to all your customers that way?” Pete grinned at the flash in Patrick’s eyes but stayed out of reach, picking up an acoustic bass and sat down on one of the many stools. “I just came to say hi, I was in the area.” Patrick gave him an uncharacteristically soft smile and he felt his own heart flutter helplessly in his chest. “You hiding in here from your boss?”

 

Patrick shook his head, smiling. “No, Fridays I make sure all the guitars are in tune. Can’t tell if they’re good unless you play them, right?” He grinned mischievously and nodded at the instrument in Pete’s hands. “I already tunned that one, play something.”

 

Fingers falling from long memory where they were supposed to be--maybe where they were even _meant_ to be on his nostalgic days--Pete grinned. “Like what?”

 

“Whatever you want.” Patrick swept hair from his eyes and adjusted his hat, and Pete couldn’t help but appreciate the way his denim button-down clung to him, the stretch of pale throat exposed by the unbuttoned collar.

 

Shaking himself out of ogling, he shrugged. “I never was the creative one...umm, how about some Metallica?”

 

Smiling widely, Patrick began picking the first few chords of _Fade to Black_ and Pete let out a whoop and began to play along. They played the opening sequence, Patrick not commenting anytime Pete messed up a chord or faltered, but merely smiled encouragingly. Pete decided this was way more fun than anything he’d ever done with his old band, and then _Patrick started to sing._

 

_Life it seems, will fade away_

_Drifting further every day_

_Getting lost within myself_

_Nothing matters no one else_

 

Pete couldn’t help the way his jaw dropped as Patrick sang the opening lines, his voice clear and perfect. After the first few lines, he stopped playing entirely and focused only on the amazing sounds coming from the guy he had just gone from crushing on to _ohmygodIminlove_. Glancing up, Patrick silenced the strings with his hand and gave a bashful grin. “Sorry, it’s been awhile since…”

 

 _Is he seriously apologizing for sounding like an angel?_ Pete’s brain felt like it was knocking against the sides of his skull and he shook his head. “Dude, stop it. You’re like, _amazing_. Holy shit, I had no idea!” Patrick flushed red and that only spurred him on to keep talking. “No seriously, like you sound a million times better than Hetfield ever did!”

 

“Thanks.” Standing quickly, Patrick put the guitar back on its peg and rubbed his neck. “Umm, it’s my break anyways, do you want to go get coffee or something?” Pete jumped up and replaced his bass and nodded.

 

They left the guitar room and Pete waited as Patrick disappeared to the back to tell his manager he was going on break. A tall girl with blonde hair pulled back into a braid walked by, a stack of books in her arms. “Can I help you with anything?”

 

“Oh, no.” Pete smiled at her. “Sorry, I’m just waiting for Patrick, that’s all.” The girl gave him a smile that looked more genuine than her previous one and she cocked her head to the side.

 

“Are you Pete?” When he nodded a self-satisfied look came over her face. “Ahhh...Patrick’s told me about you, I’m Melanie.” She shuffled the books and stuck out her hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”

 

“Yeah, definitely.” Pete’s head started to spin as he wondered what Patrick had told her about him, was this Patrick’s girlfriend that he had just forgotten to tell him about in the five hundred times they had hung out, was she into him or was he into her--

 

“Ready?” Patrick came up alongside them both and smiled at Melanie. “I’ll be back in thirty. Want anything from the coffee shop?” She shook her head, smiling as she hoisted the books up higher.

 

“Nah, I’m good. As much as I want to, I can’t cheat on Rex, even behind his back. But I hope his next fad diet is _eat all the sugar and carbs you want_.” Patrick laughed and pulled Pete’s elbow towards the door.

 

“Hope I find someone so loyal.” She laughed in return and gave him a look that Pete didn’t have the energy to decipher between trying to calm down his heart rate and readjusting his whole freak-out session away from _he likes her_ to _oh my God what was he saying about me?_ The humid summer air hit him in the face as they walked outside and Patrick’s ramblings broke into his head.

 

“--is really nice. Her boyfriend Rex is the most hardcore drummer I’ve ever met. They’re the weirdest couple in the world, she’s so _cheerleader_ and he’s all eyeliner and chains and spiked mohawk.” He laughed. “Guess opposites attract.”

 

“How long has she worked here?” Pete managed to get out as his panic subsided to normal levels--at least normal for when he was around Patrick.

 

“Two years? She only works full-time here during the summer, she’s going to DePaul to be a special ed teacher. Wants to teach kindergarteners.” Patrick smiled again. “Like I said, they’re an oddball couple, but she’s pretty sure he’s going to propose soon.” He smiled dreamily and Pete was momentarily swept up in thoughts about how he was going to propose to Patrick someday, but then they were at the coffee shop and he suddenly had to read the menu like a normal human being. Patrick ordered just a black coffee and he got a mocha mint chip blended thing and ignored the laughter from his companion when he asked for extra drizzle. Taking their drinks from the bar, they went to sit at a table by the window, sunlight streaming in and making Patrick’s skin look absolutely perfect, if Pete did say so himself.

 

“So you just wanted to stop by, huh?” Patrick smiled at him, an unguarded and open movement that Pete decided he liked very much.

 

“I got off and figured I’d come see this place you’re always talking about.” Pete gave him a smug smile. “It’s totally you down to a science.” Patrick gave him an inquiring look, and he waved his hand. “I mean, you wear cardigans and you love music and...I dunno.” He took a sip of his drink. “It just looks like you in a store. Bursting with cool music, overflowing with instruments, and my grandpa would be at home there.”

 

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Patrick gave him an annoyed look that didn’t at all look upset. It looked _fond_ if Pete was going to have to put a word to it, and he felt his heart squeeze again in his chest. He _liked_ it when Patrick looked at him like that. “Well, thanks for what I’m choosing to take as a complement.” Sipping his own beverage, he looked down and rubbed at an imagined spot on the table. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

 

“Yeah?” Pete couldn’t help the happiness in his tone and Patrick nodded, eyes darting up to meet his own for a brief second before he cupped his drink in his hands.

 

“Yeah. It’s always a good day when I get to see you.” It felt like his heart was beating a million miles a minute and Pete refrained from getting up and dancing around like an idiot. “Plus, I don’t have to share you with Andy and Joe here.”

 

“There’s more than enough of me to go around, I promise.” Pete laughed. “Black coffee, huh?”

 

Nodding, he smiled. “I can’t really do those frooffy drinks.”

 

“Frooffy??” Pete laughed. “Is that even a word?” Patrick just shrugged in response and took another sip, eyes remaining locked with his over the rim and Pete noticed--again--how mesmerizing a shade they were.

 

“What?” He tilted his head and looked at Pete, a hint of self-consciousness creeping into his demeanor. Pete shook his head, inwardly laughing that Patrick would feel such a thing just as he was thinking the exact opposite.

 

“Your eyes are incredible.” It was out of his mouth before he could even think of something better, and reprimanded himself for his less-than-smooth segue as Patrick’s eyes widened. “I mean, all of you is incredible, I just, the white rim of the cup really made them stand out and--” He flailed his hand around as Patrick blushed, hoping the artistic swirl of his wrist would convey what he was trying to say.

 

“Thanks.” Patrick’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, soft even, but a playful grin quirked the corner of his mouth. “You aren’t half bad yourself. Actually--” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Joe’s a bit of a stalker sometimes, in the endearing way, and he found this online.” Handing it over, he started laughing loud and careless at the look on Pete’s face when he saw the image displayed on the small screen.

 

“Fuck I can’t believe--” Pete looked up at Patrick, who was now trying to reign in his laughter. “--I can’t believe you guys saw this and ever let me back in the house.” He sat back and handed the phone back over. “Yeah, that was my band--Arma Angelus. We were the literal definition of _hot mess_ , and my fashion sense was actually worse back then.”

 

Patrick looked down at the photo again, holding the phone up so it was level with Pete’s face, and shook his head, still laughing. “Don’t worry...we all have looks we’d like to forget. Remind me to show you my old sideburns sometime.” Sliding it back in his pocket, he stood. “Break’s almost over...want to walk me back?” Pete tried to push down his brain’s loud racket telling him _ohmygoshwalkyoubacklikeadate??_ And just nodded.

 

They threw away their cups and headed out of the shop, back into the oppressive heat. Pete told him about this concert he had seen a flyer for and Patrick agreed to see if Joe and Andy wanted to go. Stopping in front of the store, Pete stuck his hands in his pockets, unsure what to do. But Patrick solved his mental hand-wringing and pulled him into one of the most _all-encompassing_ hugs he’d ever received. He buried his face in Patrick’s neck and it smelled like aftershave and sea salt and cupcakes.

 

“Thanks for coming by...it was seriously really nice to see you.”  Patrick said as he pulled away, and Pete could only nod dumbly. With a final smile, Patrick turned and headed into the store and Pete watched him through the window, not caring if he looked like an idiot. He seemed to feel that way around Patrick a lot lately…but that was alright. He was A-okay with that.

 

 


	6. ~Interlude~

_It had always been something I’ve worried about. Sometimes I wish I could be as carefree as Joe....If I’m really being honest, I actually feel that way a lot. Or I'd wish I could be calm like Andy, find the serenity that has always eluded me. Maybe I’m just too afraid of failure, of weakness to relinquish the effort of the attempt. To always try to be strong, to be what I SHOULD be, rather than what I am._

 

_I’m not sure if the feeling in my chest is love. I’m not sure if the ache under my lungs is missing him. I’m not sure if the color behind my eyelids is an echo of his topaz eyes or just the hue of an imagined wish._

 

_My mother hadn’t been much help when I first started feeling that yearning for something more years ago. That ache for a connection, for someone to be mine and to for me to know I was theirs._ _Nobody in my family had ever found a soulmate, none of them had ever even been inclined towards looking. They had lived for a long, long time...and they all seemed content. Happy. My mother smiled at me when I asked and said that she knew how she felt about me, and that she didn't need a soul to know she loved me. I had smiled and felt that warm feeling blossom in my chest that I had always equated with love...but now I’m not sure if that’s what it was. I’m not sure about a lot of things, any more. Maybe that's what love is._

 

_"Didn't you ever wonder? What did you--how did you feel towards my father?"_

 

_Her mouth had twisted at the very HUMAN word for my sire. The Sagani concept of family is sparse at most...the strongest bonds are between mothers and children. The sires...some of them stayed around, most of them didn't. Mine had fallen somewhere in-between._

 

_"He was healthy and of a good line. He had good qualities, ones I thought would meld well with my own. He was respectful and intelligent, with a wonderful voice." She had shrugged. "He was a good lover."  I know my had face burned at her nonchalance, and she laughed. "Oh Patrick, my little songbird. You never cease to amuse me with your modesty."_

 

_I tried to smile in a way that wouldn't betray too much of my unease. "But you really didn't...feel anything towards him?"_

 

_She shook her head. "He was of good stock, and if he decided to see you I would not have mourned his company. I enjoyed hearing him sing...and he was kind to me." She tilted her head to the side as she considered me. "Why can you not find happiness with just yourself, my son?"_

 

_I shook my head, unable to meet her eyes to give her a lie when I didn't know the truth myself. The soft lilt of her voice was comforting, peaceful, though her speech was archaic. It was a hallmark of the thousand years she had been alive and also of the amount of time she had seen fit to spend in the modern world. Like all the Sagani, she had fulfilled her expected duty and birthed a child so her line would continue. But she had done it late in her endless span of years--not until she was over nine hundred did she choose my sire and give birth to me._

 

_"I just...something's missing. I can feel it." I shrugged again, and she glided over to squeeze my shoulder in sympathy and then left me to my thoughts. I looked around my childhood home and thought back...thought back to all the times I had felt like I wasn’t enough, like I was less than everyone else. First because I hadn’t manifested, then because I was the world’s worst Poinemosi, and then because I was the Nerepolesi. I wonder if this is just going to be another thing I feel like I’m a failure at--that I’m not good enough no matter how hard I try._

 

_I just can’t help it, though. My mind is always skipping away to HIM. To kind, whiskey eyes and miles of tanned skin. To the way my stomach feels like it’s balled up in a knot when Pete smiles at me, at the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners and light up his whole face with the most heartbreaking earnestness I’ve ever seen. My breath feels like it freezes in my chest anytime his fingers brush mine, when his hand lingered on my shoulder when I had stumbled last week. Is that love? Or is that just friendship? I’ve never felt those things about Joe or Andy. That’s the only thing that makes me feel like this is DIFFERENT. That Pete is DIFFERENT....I want this to be different. And that’s terrifying._

  



	7. Chapter 7

 

“Pete?” Andy’s voice came garbled through the phone, sounding tinny and a bit scratchy. “Pete, where are you right now?”  

 

“Umm...I’m at home, why?” Pete pressed the phone into his ear as he tried to balance his plate of cold pizza on top of his beer so he could turn the light out in the kitchen.

 

“It’s Patrick. It’s a long story but Joe and I both can’t get there in time and he really needs someone right now.”

 

“ _Ohmygod_ is he alright?” Pete felt like his heart stopped beating and his breath froze in his lungs.

 

“He’s fine, he’s fine.” Andy’s voice drifted away for a moment, interrupted by a scratching, rustling sound. “Sorry, no, he’s fine. It’s Molly. He took her to the vet today, she had a seizure at home and found out she has cancer. They have to put her down and Joe’s out camping and I’m driving back from Michigan so nobody is there with him.”

 

Before Andy had even finished his sentence, Pete was shutting the door behind him with a slice of pizza between his teeth.

 

“I’m leaving now. What vet is he at?”

 

~//~

 

The sky was darkening over Lakeshore Veterinary Hospital and there was a distant rumble of far-away thunder as Pete pulled in, not caring that he was double-parked. He tumbled inside and went up to the woman in Tweety-Bird scrubs sitting at the reception desk.

 

“Excuse me, I’m looking for my friend, Patrick? His dog Molly is--”

 

“Ohhhh yes. Come with me.” She gave him a look that he thought might be sympathy and led him back through the double doors, past kennels full of barking dogs and pointed to a blue door. “In there.” Something made him step forward quietly and open it slowly, like he was afraid to wake a sleeping baby, but as he entered into the room he realized what a foolish sentiment that was. Patrick wouldn’t have noticed him if he had kicked the door down and sounded an air horn--he was standing next to a padded table, his upper body resting next to Molly’s limp body and sobbing.

 

“Patrick--” He felt like he was intruding but at the same time he felt like something was _pushing_ him towards the pair, and his heart broke when Patrick started at his voice, looking up at him with a stricken expression.

 

“Pete?” He gasped, his voice coming out raw and ragged. “What--what are you--?”

 

“Andy called me.” Pete answered as he shut the door behind him and moved closer. He saw Molly’s eyes were open and she was looking at him, the only other movement was her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m so sorry, Trick.” He moved to stand next to Patrick and ran a feather-light touch on Molly’s flank. “Hey, Molly Lollie.”

 

Patrick only lowered his head back to the table and started stroking Molly’s fur, gentle movements around her ear as he started crying again. “I know, I know she’s just a dog but I didn’t know anything was wrong! I should have seen it, I should have seen you were hurting baby girl, I’m so sorry…” He sobbed and Pete felt his own eyes starting to fill with tears, remembering the broken body of the black lab he had grown up with bleeding on the asphalt. He just rubbed Patrick’s back, trying to help but knowing nothing he could do would make it any better. Molly was whining softly, her tongue flicking out to try and lick Patrick’s face as he pressed kisses to her muzzle.

 

The door opened, and a woman in a white coat stepped into the room. “Patrick? It’s time.” Pete felt him stiffen, and an idea struck him.

 

“Do it in here, so he can hold her.” The woman looked at him and opened her mouth to argue, but he turned and looked at her dead on. “I know you can do it like that, and she deserves to be held by someone who loves her.” His voice was firm and he hoped it would be enough, that he wouldn't have to throw a full-blown fit but he would if he had to. For Patrick.

 

But the vet seemed to deflate a bit and sighed. “Alright.” She moved to a cupboard and held out what looked to be a plastic-lined blanket. “Lay her on that before you pick her up. There can be a natural release of fluids after they’re gone.” Taking the blanket, Pete nodded and turned away as she left the room.

 

“Here.” He laid the blanket down on the empty end of the table and motioned to Patrick, who was still sobbing. “Help me.” Carefully, they both slid their hands under Molly’s body and lifted her onto the blanket. She whined pitifully and Patrick to sucked in a hiccupy breath, but then they set her down and Pete was helping him wrap the blanket loosely around her. “Sit on the table.” He told Patrick softly and he obeyed, wiping his face furiously with the sleeve of his cardigan. Pete murmured softly to Molly as he picked her up and settled her blanketed form into Patrick’s arms. He immediately started cooing and whispering to her, bringing her close so he could kiss her and bury his face in her fur. She let out a contented huff, and Pete hopped up on the table so he could wrap an arm around Patrick. He leaned into him as he gently rocked the small bundle, telling her how much he loved her and that he’d never forget her.

 

The door opened again, and the vet came into the room. She was silent as she used her stethoscope to listen to Molly’s heartbeat, and then she gently moved the blanket so she could see the small plastic IV stent in Molly’s hind leg.

 

“Patrick, I’m going to give her a sedative first, so she’ll be relaxed, okay?” Nodding miserably, Patrick took a deep breath, rubbing the spot behind Molly’s ear that usually made her flop to her back so you could rub her stomach.

 

“I love you, Molly.” The doctor emptied the syringe and a moment later, Molly sighed as her eyes fell shut. Patrick’s tears were falling into her fur liberally now, as the vet pulled a syringe full of a thick pink liquid from the pocket of her coat. “She won’t feel a thing, I promise.” Patrick just cried harder, murmured _love you’s_ and _it’s okay baby, it’s okay I’m here,_ punctuating his sobs. Pete caught her eyes and nodded, knowing that he needed to do this for Patrick, and she gave him a sad smile before pressing the syringe into the port and emptying it.

 

They all waited, the only sound Patrick’s shuddering breaths and the sound of heavy rain falling on the roof.  He watched Molly’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall...and then nothing. The vet pulled her stethoscope to her ears and pressed it to Molly’s chest.

 

“I’ll leave you to say goodbye.” She looked up at Pete. “Bring her out whenever you’re ready.” He nodded, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat and she left, shutting the door softly. Pete pulled Patrick close, murmuring soft consolation in his ear knowing full well that it would do no good as he cried into Molly’s fur, telling her he loved her over and over.

 

After twenty minutes, counted out by the clock over the door that proclaimed _Save a life, adopt!_ Patrick’s sobs quieted and he stirred from his position against Pete. “I...I’m…” Pete just nodded, getting off the table and holding out a cautionary hand as Patrick slid down holding Molly. He picked up Patrick’s wallet, keys and phone from where they had been forgotten on a chair and opened the door. They formed a small, sad funeral procession to where a tech was waiting with a metal box. Patrick started crying again as he gently laid her down into it, fussing with the blanket and smoothing her fur lovingly. He bent and pressed a final kiss to her muzzle, murmuring something too low for anyone to hear, and then stepped back, flinging himself into Pete’s chest. With a nod to the tech, Pete wrapped his arms around Patrick and gently led him away, out the doors and back into the deserted waiting room. The woman behind the desk handed him a small, clear bag--inside was a baked clay impression of Molly’s paw and her name tag. Patrick clutched it to his chest and murmured a pitiable _thank you._

 

The sky visible through the glass doors was an angry black, with flashes of lightning punctuating the constant drone of the downpour. He took a deep breath and pulled his keys from his pocket as he half-pulled, half dragged Patrick’s sobbing form into the storm. Pete got him into the car, and then ran around and threw himself into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “My car…” Patrick’s voice was muffled and thick with tears, but Pete just shook his head and reached across him for the seat belt.

 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine ‘till tomorrow.” Patrick didn’t argue and merely resumed sniffling miserably, the only other sound the frantic _swish-swish_ of the wipers as they slicked away the pouring rain all the way to the house.

 

Parking in the driveway, Pete got Patrick into the house only to have him start tearing up again when he saw Molly’s leash hanging on the key-rack. Making soft shushing sounds, Pete pulled him into the living room and they collapsed on the couch, Patrick curling into his chest and crying.

 

“I didn’t know, she seemed fine! I should have seen it, I should have _noticed_.” He cried and Pete grabbed a tissue from the side table and handed it to him.

 

“You had no way of knowing, ‘Trick.” He ran a hand up and down Patrick’s back, presshing his cheek to his scalp. “You were the best dog dad in the world, you gave her a great life.”

 

“But she’s _gone_.” Patrick looked up at him, tears streaming from his eyes. “I got her the day I left home, she’s been with me the _whole time_.”

 

“And she’ll always live in your heart.” He winced inwardly at how cliche it sounded...but it was the best he could do. Reaching out, he took the plastic bag off the paw-print impression, and Patrick ran his fingers across the surface, nodding. They sat like that for a long while, Patrick holding the clay circle to his chest with Pete’s arms around him. Eventually, Pete noticed gooseflesh rising on his arms and he stirred. “Come on, let’s get you dried off before you get sick.” He led Patrick upstairs to his room, opening drawers until he found a pair of black sweatpants and a old grey t-shirt. He set them down next to Patrick and gently pried the pawprint from his hands, setting it on the nightstand.

 

“Change, okay? I’ll be right back.” Patrick only nodded, eyes riveted on Molly’s dog bed in the corner. Pete shut the door and went downstairs, making them both a cup of hot tea in the hope that it would help Patrick sleep. He heard the creaking sound of water running through the old pipes and felt relieved to know Patrick had made it to the bathroom, at least. Carrying the mugs carefully, he opened the door to see Patrick sitting in bed dry and staring at the pawprint, some sort of jazz record spinning on the turntable and filling the room with melancholy. He set one mug down on the nightstand and handed the other to Patrick, smiling at his soft _thanks_ before settling next to him against the headboard. They sipped their tea as the strains of saxophone and piano notes floated around them and Patrick sighed.

 

“Thanks for being here.” He murmured, not meeting Pete’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to spend your night.”

 

“Hey.” Pete wrapped his arm around Patrick because he couldn’t _not,_ especially hearing the pain still lacing his words. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I just wish I could do something.”

 

Taking another sip, Patrick laid his head on Pete’s shoulder. “You are.” He finished his tea and looked up at him with mournful eyes. “Would you--would you stay? You don’t have to, I don’t--”

 

“Hey.” Pete finished the contents of his own mug and set it down. “Of course I’ll stay.” Something flashed through Patrick’s eyes that Pete couldn’t quite decipher, but then it was gone and replaced with the cloying sadness even as his lips twisted in a small smile of thanks. He shucked off his pants and grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms thrown over the footboard as Patrick turned the light off before fitting himself against his side. Pete couldn’t help but feel like it felt _right_ , but he pushed it down--now was not the time to let his crush flare up.

 

“All dogs go to heaven, right?” Patrick’s voice was still rough from crying, but it held an edge of resignation and acceptance that Pete fervently hoped was a sign he would be okay. The rain had slowed to a soft patter on the roof--a soothing, peaceful background for the low strains of jazz.  

 

“You betcha.” Pete squeezed Patrick a little tighter and traced patterns on his back with light fingertips. “She’s probably up there right now chasing a bulldog twice Hemmy’s size with a giant steak in her mouth.” Patrick’s laugh had a slight shake, but it was still a laugh, and he felt his heart lift, so he dared to ask, “Umm…’Trick, is the--this storm? Is it...?”

 

The record reached the end and started skipping, so Patrick got up and turned it off silently, before picking up the pawprint as he laid back down. He settled down, throwing a leg over Pete’s as he got comfortable and sighed. “The weatherman is going to say it’s just a freak end-of-summer rainstorm.” He tucked Molly’s paw print against his heart and took a shuddery breath, and Pete just smiled as they both fell asleep.

  


~//~

 

A week later, the four of them gathered in the backyard to bury Molly’s remains. Joe had told Patrick that it wasn’t _technically_ legal, but Andy had nudged him and made a speech about _fascist laws_ and _the cycle of life_ and Patrick had just shrugged.

 

“I’m not burying her in some damn pet cemetery.” He had stated in a tone that brooked no room for argument, and picked up the small wooden box and they all headed outside. Pete and Andy dug the hole on the spot next to the fence that Molly would always lay to sun herself. Patrick had settled the box in the bottom of the hole, and then started to shovel the dirt back over.

 

“Umm, hang on, I forgot something.” Pete ran back in the house and came back a moment later holding a slightly-wilted tiger lily plant. Patrick’s eyes widened as he saw it, and his lip trembled a bit as Pete held it out. “I....she deserves something beautiful, and I just thought she was sweet and feisty like Tiger Lily from _Peter Pan_ , so…”

 

“ _Thank you.”_ Patrick breathed, taking it from him with wide eyes and a trembling smile on his lips, then knelt to plant it over her grave. Packing the dirt around it firmly, he held his palms over the base and water dripped from them. Standing, he wiped his hands on his jeans and Andy stepped forward. He took a deep breath and held his closed fists out in front of him, opening them slowly. The plant _grew_ , more stems pushing up through the soil until it was mature and spreading over the mound of dirt like a shelter. Pete saw Patrick bite his lip out of the corner of his eye as Joe brought a brick over from the pile next to the house. He settled it at the base of the plant and ran his finger across the surface, writing _Molly_ in surprisingly clear letters as smoke drifted from his fingertip and the brick glowed red where he touched it.

 

They all stood back to admire their handiwork, and Patrick wiped a few tears from his face as he wrapped his arms around Andy and Pete, smiling at Joe as he tossed his arm over Pete’s shoulders.

 

“Thanks guys. It’s perfect.”

 

Joe and Andy murmured replies of _no problem_ and _she deserves it_ and went in the house, leaving the two of them in the sunshine.

 

“I just...I keep thinking she's gonna run out any minute.” Patrick’s voice was soft, sad but not broken. He sat down on the grass and stared at the grave, and Pete sat down next to him. Patrick looked over and smiled at him, their knees bumping together. "Thanks for...the other night. Being there." He huffed and Pete nudged his shoulder, smiling.   

 

“I’m just glad I got to meet her.” Pete said at last, and Patrick’s hand came to rest on his knee, squeezing for just a minute before returning to his lap as they sat in easy silence, each thinking their own thoughts.

  


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey dude.” Pete called out as he got out of his car, a white plastic bag dangling from his hand. “Pete’s delivery service at your service.”

 

Looking up from where he was carefully tying stakes to his burgeoning tomato bushes, Andy waved. “You're the man. Just put it on the porch?”

 

Pete complied, settling the bag in the shade. “Want any help?”

 

Nodding towards a basket, Andy took the twist-tie from his mouth and lifted the stalk into place. “The currants are exploding, that’s the season for you. Can you pick off a bunch for me?” Humming in agreement, Pete picked up the basket and started pulling ripe berries from the bush. Andy gave him tasks like this now, rather than letting him weed or prune like he had at the beginning of the summer. The last time Pete had tried to do that, they had ended up with half of the baby sugar snap pea plants in a pile that Andy had huffed and replanted without _any_ of them withering. He also wasn't good at telling when squash were ready, picking all of them in sight. Andy had grumbled and waved his hands over them and just like that they were ripe. Pete had marveled and the Agrossi had merely shrugged and said _Can't have them going to waste ‘cause you suck._  

 

Tomato plants now standing upright towards the waning September sun, Andy took a pair of pruning shears from his pocket and started cutting various blooming flowers and bits of foliage, piling them into a flat basket. They worked in companionable silence, just enjoying being outside, and Pete couldn't help but laugh at himself. Six months ago he never would have thought he’d be happily _gardening_ on an Autumn Sunday afternoon, but here he was. Life was strange and awesome.

 

“I'm gonna go get some from the back and put them in water. We can eat whenever you wanna call it quits.” Pete nodded and off Andy went, clipping a branch here, a flower there. He chuckled to himself--between the three of them, his friendly neighborhood Sagani had a very odd sense of decoration. The house always had vases of flowers and plants scattered around--artfully arranged no matter how unusual the plants in them were by Andy. They never seemed to wither, between Patrick using his ability to always make sure there was water in them and Andy’s ability to keep things alive. Candles burned all around the house--Pete had found out later they were unscented, but it helped explain the ever-present scent of pine trees, firewood and sea-cotton that seemed to permeate the house to Andy’s book club that met every Tuesday in the living room. Joe loved the candles, always coming back with weirdly shaped holders or grinning over some hand-dipped beeswax tapers he had found at the Farmer’s Market. Patrick’s contribution was in every room there was one of those tabletop fountains, water bubbling over rocks or tumbling down a piece of bamboo. Before he knew about what they were, Pete had just assumed they were all battery operated...but now he knew that Patrick would run his hands around them and start the water flowing, and _somehow_ it just continued bubbling and trickling after he walked away.

 

The basket was full with the world’s plumpest currants and Andy was coming back out to the porch, two bottles of lemonade in hand. Pete climbed the steps, set down the berries and took the offered drink as he sat in one of the rockers, the cool fall air wafting around them calmly. Andy dug into the bag and handed him one of the identically wrapped sandwiches and Pete made a face.

 

“You realize the huge amount of trust I'm putting in you, right, Hurley? I don't think there's any universe where I would order a sandwich on my own that says it has _baked tofu_ as the star with _goddess dressing,_ whatever the fuck that is.” Pete looked down at his sandwich as he unwrapped it, a variety of vegetables poking out, including something that looked like _plants._ “What are these things?”

 

Andy shook his head as he bit into his sandwich. “They're alfalfa sprouts, really good for you. And literally _everyone_ who I have introduced to this sandwich loves it. Even Joe, so you'd better not break my record.”

 

Mumbling, Pete took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. He could feel Andy’s eyes on him and he sighed. “ _Fine,_ you win. It's fucking delicious.”

 

Grinning smugly, Andy took a swig of his drink, and took another bite. They sat eating in companionable silence, and Pete reflected that was something he really liked about Andy. He would listen to Pete prattle on about whatever but he would also make silence feel just as comfortable.

 

“Look at you two, rocking on the porch like old men.” Pete looked up to see Patrick grinning at them as he climbed the steps. “Oh my God, you got tofu sandwiches without me? I thought you guys loved me!”

 

Andy just made a face, but Pete held out the rest of his sandwich towards Patrick as his heart flip-flopped. “You can have my other half. I, uh, kinda got another sandwich and ate it on the way over in case this was as bad as it sounded.”

 

“You're a traitor, Wentz.” Andy said as he shook his head and Patrick laughed as he took the offered sandwich and sat down in the rocker next to Pete.

 

“Be careful, otherwise Andy will turn your lemonade into wheatgrass juice when you aren't looking. Trust me, you do _not_ want a mouthful of that when you're expecting something else.”

 

“Speaking of...” Andy handed his bottle to Patrick. “Chill it up for me?” Nodding, he wrapped pale fingers around the bottle and Pete could see _frost_ form around the glass neck. “Thanks.” Andy said and Patrick looked at Pete.

 

“Want me to do yours too?”

 

“Sure.” Pete held out his bottle and tried to not think of _exactly what_ he wanted Patrick to do to him. But then his bottle was cold and _damn_ nothing was better than a perfectly chilled lemonade on a summer day. “Thanks.”

 

“Only fair when you gave me half your sandwich.” Patrick grinned at him, licking green goddess sauce from his fingers and Pete was once again trying--and mostly failing-- to hold his mind back from all kinds of horrible thoughts as he watched.

 

“You're home early.” Andy noted, and Patrick nodded.

 

“Yeah, somehow _all_ of my afternoon lessons cancelled and the store didn't need me so…here I am.”

 

Pete leaned back and sipped at his drink as Patrick talked to Andy about a new set of drums they had gotten into the store. They all held an odd mish-mash of jobs: Andy worked as a crossfit trainer and volunteered at the local farm co-op while Joe managed a local hipster coffee shop. It made his job at Subway while coaching soccer part-time seem normal.

 

“Hey, you awake?” Pete opened his eyes to see Patrick looking at him strangely, and he smiled.

 

“Yeah, just tired. I didn’t sleep that well last night.”

 

Patrick gave him a concerned look. “You want to take a nap before the show? You can use my room.”

 

Briefly, Pete considered saying no and powering through it...but the idea of a nap and _Patrick’s room_ was too much to resist. “Alright, as long as you don’t mind me drooling on your pillow.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll just make you change my sheets if that happens.” Laughing, Pete agreed and headed up after tossing his empty bottle in the recycling bin.

 

Opening the door at the end of the hall, he stepped inside and closed it behind him. The room was neat with an overlay of _scatterbrained._ The books were organized in the bookcase, records alphabetized next to the ornate antique turntable. But there were notes scattered everywhere, pieces of papers and musical detritus littering everything. Moving to the hastily made bed, Pete kicked his shoes off, laid his head down and breathed deep. _Creeper_ his mind chided him, but he pushed it down. So what if he liked the way Patrick smelled...it was like ocean breezes and wet pavement after a rainstorm. Rolling to his back, he stared at the ceiling, at the Bowie and various folk band posters hung on the walls in frames.

 

 _Patrick, Patrick._  His brain cast back to that sad, rainy night with Patrick tucked next to him on the double bed--they'd fit great, they were both pretty small dudes after all. He wondered if Patrick snored sometimes, or if he slept curled up in a ball or flung out when he had the whole bed to himself. He wondered if he had nightmares like the ones that seemed to find Pete at his tiredest, or if he dreamed of butterflies and unicorns. He wondered how many people had slept in this bed with him, but quickly shut down that line of thought...and then put on the mental brakes. Why would he care how many people had woken up next to Patrick?

 

 _Because you want to wake up next to him._ The voice whispered at him, and he couldn’t argue--the morning after putting Molly down didn't really count. Patrick was gorgeous, smart, passionate, funny...everything he liked. But he had always fallen fast and hard for people, but his crushes never lasted. They came and went like the tides, usually deciding that he was too much, his moods too challenging, his smiles too bright for his darkness. But Patrick...his crush on Patrick hadn’t gone away, and Patrick hadn’t seemed to grow tired of him, none of the guys had.

 

More than that though...while Pete had certainly had many, many times pictured all the things he would want to do to Patrick (and to have Patrick do to him), he realized with a start that wasn’t what he wanted most. He wanted to see Patrick smile at him, that quick, explosive smile that came just before he broke out laughing and slapped his knee like an old man. He wanted to always have the way Patrick’s shoulder felt under his head when he leaned on him. He wanted to always hear Patrick singing under his breath and the way his eyes flashed when he was angry.

 

He wanted to _keep_ Patrick.

 

With a sigh, Pete admitted that maybe he was doing a bit more than _crushing_. But what to do with it...that was a question for another time, he decided. That was for when he wasn’t surrounded by comfy pillows that smelled like Patrick and sunshine filtering through pulled-back blackout curtains and the siren’s call of the perfect afternoon nap pulling at him.

  
  
  


 


	9. Chapter 9

Pete and Andy were sitting on the couch playing Soul Calibur when Patrick blew into the living room with a cold blast of air at his heels. It was a chilly October day, the wind blowing off the lake promising winter was not far away. Yanking his scarf from his neck, Patrick threw it over the back of the armchair and then dumped his coat on top. Pete glanced over to see he was wearing an adorable old-dude cardigan and felt his heart skip a beat at how _damn cute_ Patrick was. It was just unfair.

 

“Bad day?” Andy didn’t stop his attack on Pete’s character, but that didn’t make him sound any less concerned. Throwing himself down on the couch with a huff, Patrick laid his head on Pete’s lap and pulled the ratty afghan off the arm and over himself. Pete tried to contain the way his chest constricted at the way Patrick burrowed into him, a tiny pale ball of fury.

 

“Stupid. People are fucking _stupid.”_ Rolling over, Patrick pushed his glasses up on his nose and glared at the TV. “This kid came in for his music lesson and I _knew_ he hadn’t practiced _at all._ I told him that he needed to practice more and he _pitched a fit_ and the then his _idiot_ mother came in and started yelling at _me_ for making her kid cry and then complained to the manager that I wasn’t actually teaching her bratty kid music and that she didn’t know why they had hired me. It’s like these parents think I’m a fucking fairy godmother or something and I can just throw pixie dust at a kid and make them goddamn prodigies.” Huffing in frustration, Patrick took his glasses off and threw them on the coffee table, only to roll over, pull his beanie down over his ears and mutter.

 

“That sucks dude.” Andy’s eyes flicked over to the couch, and he grimaced. For an awful moment, Pete wondered if Andy was mad that Patrick was basically cussing out the inside of his hat while seeking comfort from him...but then he realized why he was making the face. “Can you take some deep breaths and stop growing icicles from the coffee table, please?” Andy’s voice held only a hint of reproach, but Patrick pulled the hat up and rolled over to squint at the coffee table. Pete spared a glance, and sure enough, there was a layer of frost over their discarded lunch boxes, and icicles were slowly creeping from the edges of the table.

 

“Shit, sorry.” Bringing his hands out from under the blanket, Patrick circled them in an opposite-twisting motion twice and the ice became a puff of cloud over the table that melted away like morning dew.

 

Delivering a crushing blow to Andy’s buxom character, Pete won the match. He laughed a brief _ha!_ at Andy, and then settled the controller to the side. He started to gently rub Patrick’s back, soothing circles and he could practically feel his crush melting with a soft moan, arching his back gently like a cat. Smiling, he tugged down Patrick’s beanie to cover the tops of his ears. “You didn’t get in trouble, did you?”

 

Shaking his head, Patrick yawned. “No. My manager knows them--they pitch some sort of fit like every other month, he knows it’s not me.” Settling further back into Pete’s lap, he huffed out a breath. “I don’t mind that the kid didn’t practice, I mean I kinda expect it sometimes, ‘cause they’re kids. I just hate it when parents blame _me_ for it. I just want to tell them if you want your kid to go to Juilliard, great, but you’ve gotta make them practice more than once a month.” Yawning again, he closed his eyes. “I’m going to take a nap. You guys keep going with your deviant bondage battles.”

 

“What are you talking about? Soul Calibur is a--” Pete started to protest, but Patrick cracked an eye and gave him a withering glare.

 

“Do you see the costumes they’re wearing? The designers of this game clearly were going for fashion over function. Plus, if women had breasts that size in full life, they wouldn’t be able to stand, much less fight.”

 

Grinning, Pete shrugged. “Do I want to even know your shrink-tastic assessment of why I picked the giant purple demon?”

 

“Probably not.” Patrick gave him a teasing grin and then closed his eyes again.

“If you make it start to snow in your sleep because you’re still pissy, I’ll turn your oreos into tofu, Nerepolesi or not.” Andy warned as he cycled through the characters on the screen before picking a prissy-looking man in a sailor costume. Patrick only snorted and flipped Andy the bird before pulling the blanket up to his chin and settling down. Pete picked his same character again--why change it when you were on a roll?--and they started again. Two rounds later, Andy put the controller down and stretched. Pete looked down at Patrick, features relaxed and peaceful, finally. He smoothed a strand of hair back from where it had fallen in his face, tucking it back up into the beanie.

 

Looking up, he noticed Andy looking at him strangely.  “What?”

 

“You make him calm.”

 

“Huh?” Pete gave him a disbelieving look. “ _That_ was calm?”

 

“You have no idea.” Andy rubbed his neck and tucked his feet up. “Last year something similar happened and he started a blizzard on the way home. It took us two days to dig out by the time he calmed down.” His eyes softened. “Did he tell you why he’s an oddball?”

 

“...Not really?” Pete grimaced. “I mean, he said that he got teased a lot cause everyone thought he was just a shitty Air Elemental, and that when he figured out he was Nerepolesi he got teased even more but…” He shrugged.

 

“That’s all true.” Andy tilted his head sideways and gave Pete an appraising look. “But Kinemoneri are usually very optimistic, very even-tempered and happy-go-lucky. Patrick was never any of those things, and then when we realized he was the Nerepolesi, it got even worse. He’d always had a temper--people used to joke that he manifested late because all his pissiness was blocking his abilities. But then when we realized...I had hoped it would give him some sort of peace to finally know what he was. But instead it was just one more burden, one more reason for him to be angry and feel like a failure.”

 

“Why would he feel like a failure?” Pete whispered, looking down at Patrick uncertainly. What if he wasn’t really asleep, what if he woke up…

 

Andy seemed to pick up on his concern. “Don’t worry, once he’s out, he’s out. Poke his face, he won’t wake up.” Pete couldn’t help it and poked gently at his cheek. Patrick slept on as Andy continued. “You have to understand...Patrick never really fit in. He was always a quiet kid, really compassionate and loyal, kinda awkward but he hid it by being shy. But then when he didn’t manifest when he was five...he started putting anger on like armor. He just got more and more pessimistic, more and more combative, trying to fool everyone into thinking he wasn’t hurting. It didn’t help how much the kids teased him for not manifesting, but then when we all thought he was Poinemosi and he was so bad at it…” He shrugged. “It was rough. He had barely come to grips with what he thought he was--a very untalented and weak Air Elemental--and then he caused his first thunderstorm one day when a girl told him that he was fat and stupid.”

 

Pete felt a pang of sympathy in his heart, and looked down at Patrick. At those angelic features that he knew could explode into rage at the drop of a hat and he mentally cursed all the people who had ever made him feel like he had to hide behind a wall of anger and prickliness. “That’s fucked up.”

 

Nodding, Andy made a face. “Yeah. I thought that maybe people would swing the other way and totally walk on eggshells around him and puff his ego up. But instead...it was like half of them didn’t think he was good enough to be the Nerepolesi, and the other half didn’t care and still treated him like shit. He got in a lot of fights.”

 

“You say _the_ Nerepolesi like it’s royalty.” Pete asked. “Patrick didn’t make it sound that crazy important.”

 

“He wouldn’t.” Andy gave Patrick’s head a smile that was half exasperation and half tenderness. “It’s a huge deal. There are only a few Elementals born every couple generations that can do what he can do. I’m not going to bore you with Sagani politics, but he has an almost-unbeatable chance to be the leader of all the Elementals on the North American continent if he wanted, he could have any Sagani girl in the world to bear his children...and he refuses. All he wants is to make music and hang with us.” Pete felt his eyebrows rise, and Andy waved a hand. “Anyways, the point I was going for is that he feels like if he’s angry all the time, people won’t notice how badly he’s hurting. Over the years it’s almost...it’s like he forgets he doesn’t have to do that with his friends, it’s like it’s become part of his personality rather than a defense mechanism. But when you’re around...I think you make him feel safe. It’s good to see him let that go.”

 

Mumbling, Patrick moved his shoulder and let out a deep sigh in his sleep. Pete pulled the blanket up from where it had moved, his fingers lingering on the soft skin of Patrick’s cheek for just a moment. Looking back up at Andy he knew that he had seen, and he didn’t seem to object. “So you’re saying if I keep hanging out, he’ll become some sort of zen master?”

 

A laugh tumbled from Andy at that. “No, I don’t think that’s possible. He’s never going to be a normal Kinemoneri, he’s always been feisty. But I think you make him feel like he doesn’t need to hide behind a scowl. I knew he liked you when he played you his _Ignition_ record. He loves that thing more than most people love their firstborn.”

 

Pete wondered what Andy meant by _I knew he liked you._ For a moment, he wanted to tell Andy everything, tell him how much he liked Patrick, how his heart fluttered every time he smiled or laughed. But at that moment, the door banged open and Joe tumbled in.

 

“Dude, it’s _cold as fuck_ outside!” Joe pulled a hideous plaid fur hat with ear flaps from his head and shook out his hair. “Whatcha guys doing?”

 

“Soul Calibur.” Andy answered easily. “I’m kicking Pete’s ass.” Pete only rolled his eyes at that.

 

“You’re just jealous that _nobody_ is ever good with Astaroth except me. I’m basically the chosen one.”

 

“We’ll see about that!” Joe threw himself into the chair and caught the controller Andy threw at him as he kicked Patrick’s foot. “Patrick! Wake up!! I’m gonna show Pete true greatness.” A groan came from where his head was buried in Pete’s lap, but Patrick stayed asleep. Joe snapped his fingers and the afghan started _smoking_. Pete yelped, but Patrick threw it off like it was on fire and started cussing, scrambling for his glasses.

 

“ _You motherfucker,_ I will fucking _encase_ your entire body in ice I swear to God, let’s see you melt your way out of that, _Piraidos_ , you goddamn--” Pete wasn’t sure what was more terrifying, Patrick’s fit or the grin on Joe’s face, but he decided he didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire.

 

“Whoa, whoa.” He snatched Patrick’s glasses from where they had fallen and pulled the spitting elemental back, wrapping his arms around his waist and daring to nuzzle his nose into Patrick’s neck. He smelled of windswept hills and the faint hint of sleep and sweat. “Why don’t you just put your glasses on so you can aim before you icebox anybody.” Patrick turned in his arms to glare at him and then, unexpectedly, he relaxed in Pete’s grip. Unfolding the glasses, Pete gently perched them on Patrick’s nose, sad that there was something obscuring his view of those mesmerizing eyes. But he was rewarded with a crooked smile that made its way across Patrick’s full, lush lips, and then he settled back into Pete’s arms.

 

“ _Fine.”_ He glared at Joe. “You’ll live another day, Trohman, but if you singed my favorite sweater all bets are off.” He huffed and crossed his arms, pulling his phone from his pocket and starting to fiddle as Joe and Pete started to battle. Pete took slow, deep breaths, trying to _not_ freak out about Patrick’s incredible body folded up against his own, the way his head was nestled onto his shoulder perfectly. He wasn’t doing as well in the game as before, but when Andy gave him a small smile as Patrick hummed contentedly, Pete couldn’t quite find it in him to care.

 


	10. Chapter 10

"How the fuck do I tell him without sounding like a fucking vampire or something?"

 

Joe gave him a look. "Well, first of all you know vampires aren't real right? That's the first point."

 

"Fuck you, yes I know they aren't real. My point still stands, though." Patrick’s glare softened and he let his head drop into his hands. "If I tell him that I like him and he doesn't feel the same, I'm fucked on a totally NORMAL level. If I tell him about the soul thing first and then tell him I might be fucking _in love_ with him, he may already be halfway out the door before I even get the chance to tell him how I feel? And if I tell him I like him and he--by some miracle--feels the same about me, once I tell him about the soul thing he's always gonna wonder if maybe I wasn't honest. I’m so fucked any way I skin it!"

 

"Or you could always just not tell him about the whole soul thing. I've always just thought it was a bit of hoopla." Joe took another handful of Doritos from the bag and munched thoughtfully.

 

"Your inner Jew is showing." Patrick laughed as Joe threw a chip at his face.

 

"Fuck you. We Trohman's are an ancient and proud Sagani family, thank you very much, and the whole Jew thing just makes us even cooler."

 

"Whatever you say." Patrick munched the chip, turning thoughtful. "How does your family do it?"

 

Joe thought back. "I think my mom told my dad how she felt and then told him the whole soul thing." He pulled out another chip and stuffed it in his mouth. "Obviously it worked out, they're still together. It's been like 40 years."

 

Patrick nodded, thinking--Joe's family was part of an insular and very unique Sagani group. They encouraged the finding of a mate and celebrated the marriage of a Sagani and a mortal. A few of his clan abstained from finding true love to retain their immortality and safeguard and guide the clan. But most looked actively for love, for their mate, for a soul. They valued a short life well-lived over an eternal one with no bonds. They were the outliers among the Elementals, often viewed as a bit cracked and quaint. Patrick couldn't help but think that perhaps they were on to something.

 

Perhaps the "normal" Sagani view of love and the soul was itself the outlier. If humans had been finding love and making their short lives something worthy of the poems and the songs and the art they created to memorialize it, maybe it was worth it. Maybe it was WORTHY. Generally, Sagani who gained a soul at the cost of their immortality were looked on as misguided and more than a little foolish.

 

Joe was looking at him strangely as he thought, and Patrick sighed, lost.

 

"Look bro, I think you're freaking out more than you need to. No homo, you're a great dude, and if disgusting moon eyes are anything to go by, Pete feels the same about you, soul or no soul. Knowing the stakes for you isn't going to change his mind."

 

"But what if I'm wrong. What if I’m not good enough for him, what if this isn't the right... _thing_ , or even if it is, what nothing changes when I have a soul? What if I can't take care of him the way he deserves? What if I'm not _capable_ of loving him the right way or being in love or being his--" he waved his hand expressively, like he was trying to pick the right word out of the air, but he failed and picked out four or five. "--soulmate. One true love. One and Only. Prince Charming. Whatever."

 

Rolling his eyes expressively, Joe reached into his messenger bag and pulled out his box of joints. He held snapped his fingers and a small flame flickered to life above his fingers. Lighting the end of the blunt, he held it out to Patrick, and gave him a look. "You need this. Fucking take it, you little punk." Grimacing but unable to argue, Patrick took it and took a long drag. Joe did the same and they leaned back in their chairs, smoking in companionable silence.

 

“Why the hell do we have like ten lighters when you're Piriados?” Patrick wondered aloud, the comforting haze starting to creep into the edges of his mind.

 

Joe shrugged. “It’d be weird if we had all these candles burning all the time and no lighters.” He swept an expansive hand around the room at the six or so pillars, tapers and various other candles scattered about.

 

“You and your candles.” Patrick snorted affectionately and Joe just hummed.

 

A few puffs later, Joe let out an artistic swirl of smoke and grinned at Patrick. "Look bro. I can't claim to be the expert on this. I mean, I haven't found the one for me yet. But if you're this concerned about it, I think it's safe to say that if this isn't a sure thing, it's as close as you'll ever get. And the fact that you're even worried about those things tells me that you've got as close to a soul as any of us can get on our own."

 

“He deserves more than a fucked-up Sagani that ran away from everything. He deserves _everything_ and I want to give it to him but what if I’m not good enough?” He mumbled and Joe rolled his eyes.

 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re pretty awesome and the fact that you even want to do that means you’ll probably do okay.”

 

Patrick didn't reply. But he gave Joe a look that he hoped said _I hope you’re right_ and _thanks mom_ in equal measure, and tempered it with a slightly-stoned smile, just in case.  

 

~//~

 

“ _Fine_ , but I still think you’re crazy. There is _no way_ that Starkiller really could have brought down that Star Destroyer. That was clearly just the gamemakers way to make a crude statement of how powerful he was, not to set a benchmark for all Force users’ power.” Andy folded his arms like he had no need to ever make another point about the subject ever again, but Pete shook his head.

  
“No way, Starkiller was just a ball of Force Energy. He didn’t have the finesse that any other Jedi or Sith did, but he was just mad powerful in a huge burst. That was his limitation, he never could have learned to channel it.” Pete gestured wildly with his hands to emphasize his points. “ _Plus,_ look at Nomi Sunrider, he--”

 

“--Okay, okay.” Patrick cut in, grabbing Pete’s hands and pulling them down from where they were admittedly trying to poke his eye out in all his flailing. “I don’t think that either of you are going to change your mind, and you lost me about fifteen minutes ago, and Joe is obviously not interested _at all.”_ He pointed to where Joe was buried in his headphones listening to metal loud enough to bleed out in the sudden silence and playing Soda Crush on his phone. “I’m going to go pick up the pizzas, and Pete you’re going to come so Andy doesn’t get annoyed and grow roots around you _again_ while I’m gone.” Pulling him from the couch, Patrick pushed and shoved him half-grumpy, half-amused out the door, the dark-haired man still yammering on about who was the most powerful Jedi ever.

 

“Well, that was entertaining...for the first five minutes.” Joe huffed as he pulled off his headphones, eyes still riveted on his phone. Andy didn’t reply, he just smiled serenely and grabbed the remote, beginning to flip through the channels until a hockey game came into view and he settled back happily. They sat in silence for a while, both absorbed in their pursuits, until Andy broke the silence.

 

“He _really_ likes Pete, doesn’t he?” Joe just nodded, still absorbed in the game as Andy continued. “I mean, I could see it in the way he looked at him that first night, but I wasn’t sure what it was. I think I can pretty confidently say he’s halfway in love.”

 

“Hells yeah, SUCK THAT!”  Joe threw his phone down on the empty cushion beside him and cackled. “New high score for that level in the _whole state_ . Like a boss.” He laid down flat across the couch and tossed a ball of flame in the air as he talked. “You should have heard him yesterday. He’s definitely way more than halfway in love, that’s for sure. He was freaking out over how to tell Pete he liked him...and he definitely said the “ _L”_ word.”

 

“What did you say?” Andy’s eyes darted over to him for a second before resuming watching the game.

 

“To drop his nuts and fucking tell him.” Joe reached out as the fireball went wide and caught it before it hit the coffee table. “I told him I’m pretty sure Pete has the hots for him too, and that honesty is always the best.” He frowned. “He’s also worried about how to tell him about the whole I’m-immortal-and-don’t-have-a-soul thing.”

 

“Just worried?” Andy’s voice sounded comically dubious and Joe rolled his eyes.

  
“Yeah okay, he was majorly freaking out about it. I told him it wasn’t a big deal and to just tell him all at once. Pete’s a pretty understanding guy, he took us telling him we were Sagani really fucking well anyways.” He tossed the ball in the air and once again it went wide, and Andy threw a clod of moss at him.

 

“Can you please refrain from burning the house down while our Walking Fire Extinguisher is gone?” Joe scowled but made a clenching motion and the ball vanished as Andy stretched his feet out to rest on the coffee table, lacing his fingers over his chest. “He’s really good for Patrick. You notice how much happier he is with him around? And we haven’t had a _real_ Patrick’s-temper-induced thunderstorm in _months_.” He sighed again with the longsuffering of a best friend. “Plus, Patrick’s good for Pete, too, I think. They balance each other out, and I’ve never seen Patrick take so much shit from one person without getting angry.”

 

Picking up his phone again, Joe gave Andy a contemplative look. “Think we should _gently_ nudge them in the right direction?”

 

Andy shook his head, eyes never leaving the hockey game. “No. If this is the _real_ thing for Patrick...he needs to do it at his own pace, on his own.” Joe grunted in agreement.  

 

“I’m getting sick of the mutual-pining puppy-dog routine, though.”

 

Chuckling softly, Andy turned the sound up a bit so he could hear the commentary. “It could be worse. I _know_ you’re going to be insufferable when you find the future Mrs. Trohman.”

 

Letting out an affirmative huff, Joe shot a glance to his ginger-bearded friend. “Oh yeah. When I find her, you guys are going to get to listen to _all_ of my feelings.”

 

“Lucky for us.” Andy smiled back, and they watched the rest of the game in easy silence until Pete and Patrick banged through the doors, arguing _again_ about which Metallica album was truly the greatest.

 

“Come on, I’m not saying _Ride the Lightning_ wasn’t epic! But the Black Album is them at their best, and their most METAL! Their lyrics--”

 

“--Are much better on _Master of Puppets.”_ Patrick’s voice rang out, sarcasm coating his words. “And saying a _Metal_ band sounds _metal_ isn’t exactly glowing praise, you know. It’s more significant that…”

 

Head shaking softly, Andy rose and tossed the remote onto his chair, grinning at Joe. “Here we go again.”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

After several weeks of gentle encouragement from Andy and no-so-gentle rambling lectures/vague threats wrapped in promises from Joe, Patrick flopped down on his bed and pulled out his phone. _Do it, you fucking coward._

 

_ <<My boxed set of the ORIGINAL Star Wars VHS movies came today. Can I bring it over and prove you wrong?>> _

 

He pressed _send_ and set the phone down, willing himself to not look at it compulsively. Instead, he picked up a book he’d been trying to get through for several weeks now--a non-fiction paperback titled _The Hinge Factor_ that told snippets of how tiny things had changed the course of history. He only managed to figure out where he had left off when he heard his text chime.

 

< _U mean I cn bask n bein rite n glorious VHS color? Fuck yeah. I gt off @ 5, wanna do 6? J/A comin? > _

 

Biting his lip, he sighed and typed out a response and prayed to all the benevolent Gods for forgiveness.

 

<< _They’re both busy--Andy’s meeting a girl and Joe has some sort of food poisoning from eating something he found in the back of the fridge last night when he was stoned. >> _

 

< _Cool. Loser gts PIZZA. U rmbr wat i lyk, rite? > _

 

Patrick laughed to himself and felt his heart clench with panic once again. He fought it down, and typed a response.

 

<< _More like you’d better know my order by heart. See you then. >> _

 

Pete responded with his usual chain of emojis and Patrick sighed again, wiping his hand off his face. He plodded downstairs and threw himself down on the couch, where Joe and Andy barely looked up from playing _Halo._ “I’m going over at six,” he announced, “and if anyone asks, Andy you’re on a date, and Joe, you have food poisoning. You’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

 

“Way to go!!!” Joe held out his hand without moving his eyes from the screen and fist-bumped Patrick, before frowning at the screen. “Why can’t I be on a hot date in your lie universe?”

 

“Because nobody would believe Andy got sick from eating something out of the back of the fridge.” Patrick replied, already starting to mentally vibrate over the thought of doing it.

 

“Fair.” Joe acquiesced and shot him a glance. “But I’m going to need to be more flattering in your lies about me once you guys become official.”

 

“What if we _don’t_ become official??” Patrick groaned, pulling a throw pillow over his face. “What if it goes horribly and he’s _totally_ not into me and doesn’t want to date someone like me?”

 

“Bro, come on.” Joe kicked him and Patrick pulled the pillow away. Rain was slowly pattering down on them and his housemates were glaring at them. He mumbled a despondent _sorry_ and the rain stopped as Andy set down his controller.

 

“It’s going to be fine, Patrick. Have a bit of confidence, you’re a great guy and if anything, he’ll be flattered even if he isn’t inclined to date you.” He gave him a look. “And you know I don’t think that’s the likely outcome.” Declining to reply, Patrick merely buried his head in the pillow again and groaned.

 

“We have _two more hours_ of panic-attack weather phenomena to endure.” Joe sighed to Andy, and nudged Patrick. “Want to smoke a blunt before you go?”

 

“No.”

 

“How about if you tell us all the reasons it’s going to not work, and we’ll listen very attentively as long as you promise not to start it sleeting.” Andy offered, and Patrick huffed.

 

“No promises.”

 

~//~

 

Mentally, Patrick steeled himself. He _had_ to do it, and he had to do it now, on this perfect evening before he lost his nerve.

 

The evening had gone _so well_. Pete had met him at the door with his typical babble of his day, his customers, the idiot who had wanted his sandwich wrapped in lettuce instead of bread and wanted to know if the meat was _free range_ , and Patrick’s heart ached with how much he enjoyed hearing about it all. They had watched the first twenty minutes of _A New Hope_ , and Pete had actually pulled his shirt off and run around the room waving it like a flag when they slowed the tape down to show Han shooting Greedo first. Patrick had scowled at losing, but couldn’t find it in him to be that upset as he gazed on a shirtless Pete for the first time. He had gone into the kitchen to order the pizza--pineapple, ham, sausage and green pepper, Pete’s favorite--to calm down from the sight.

 

Now they were munching their slices and finishing the movie. They cheered Red and Gold Squadrons on during the trench run, yelling out each member’s last words before they were shot down, and applauded together when the Death Star exploded.

 

“Someone needs to tell Luke that shade of yellow clashes horribly with his hair.” Pete said around a mouthful of pizza and Patrick gave him a look.

 

“Cause your fashion sense is so on-point?”

 

“Hey!” Pete nudged his foot off the coffee table, which Patrick rejoined by elbowing him in the ribs. “This coming from the guy whose entire wardrobe is either band shirts or cardigans.”

 

“Not true. I have scarves too.” Patrick fired back, and Pete laughed heartily. The tape rolled to the credits as the distinctive orchestral suite blared at them, and Pete sat up.

 

“ _Empire?”_ He asked hopefully, looking for all the world like a kid who wants to watch just _five minutes more_ . Patrick felt his mouth suddenly go dry and he nodded, sitting up as Pete jumped up to switch out the tapes. He needed to tell Pete, to end this relentless terror and anticipation that had held him in a thrall for _months_. Either he would say yes or no, but Pete was going to be told the truth tonight. He deserved it.  

 

When Pete sat back down, he took the remote and paused the tape just as the 21st Century Fox spotlights started. "Pete, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about first. I--" He paused and his carefully-rehearsed speech twisted through his brain, danced on his tongue. _I can do this._ He opened his mouth, and Pete held out a hand to stop him before taking his hand and looking at him with dark eyes.

 

“Patrick wait. Before you say anything, I want you to know you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

 

" _\--huh_??" It felt like everything in his brain came to a stop, like he was going 75 down the highway and slammed the brakes, everything coming into crystal focus as Pete looked at him. His eyes were wide, dark, unreadable and a distant part of his mind noted the contrast between the softness of his skin and the callouses on his fingertips.

 

"I'm sorry, I've always been a zero to five hundred kind of person, but I've been holding off telling you for like...well basically since you played me that _Offspring_ record and...I had to tell you, I had to let you know how perfect you are and that nothing makes me feel more at home than being with you, and I really want to _keep you_. And I get it if you don’t feel the same way, I mean it’s like totally almost guaranteed you don’t, but I just _had_ to tell you."

 

Pete's eyes were earnest now, filled with so much hope Patrick thought he was drowning in it. Excitement stirred in his heart, right alongside the sudden dropping feeling in his stomach as his plan burst into a million pieces. Pete...felt the same way? About him? But then his eyes began to shade towards uncertainty, and Patrick's heart seized as he Pete’s eyes shuttering, starting to lower over the blinding rays of golden hope. Before he even knew what he was doing, before his brain had a moment to tell him _now_ was when he told Pete, _now_ was when he explained before he got in too deep...

 

“God, Pete--me too." A distant part of his head berated him for a decided lack of eloquence but it was all he could think of as he breathed out the words and his hands flew up to cup Pete's face. Before he could even question it, his lips were on Pete's and it was _heaven_ . It was everything he had imagined and then a breathy, low moan was spilling out of Pete's throat as his mouth opened under Patrick's-- _when had he opened his own mouth?--_ he thought distantly, but dismissed it as his heart seemed to leap at the sound.

 

His brain was screaming at him that he needed to stop, to explain, to be the damn _adult_ and tell Pete the truth about what he was...but then Pete pushing him down on the couch, a mass of arms and legs and tongue and hands and skin and shuttered gasps.  His heart was hammering in his chest as Patrick found himself staring up into Pete’s warm gaze and he saw the most breathtaking acceptance and what he hoped was something like _love_ reflecting back at him. But then Patrick’s hands slid up Pete’s chest, pushing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor, and he lost the ability to think. “Thank God you’re not wearing a button-up.” Pete laughed softly, and Patrick blushed as he pushed his shirt off in return, baring his pale chest.

 

Pete’s eyes were _hungry_ as he slid his hands up Patrick’s skin, his fingers soft, like he was something precious. He couldn’t help the way his own fingertips traced the necklace of thorns around Pete’s neck and he gasped at the way Pete shuddered.

 

“Pete, I--I have to tell you--” He gasped out as a dark head ducked down to press a line of searing kisses to his neck, his collarbone.

 

“Do you have like, HIV or something?” Pete interrupted, and the suddenness of the question momentarily shocked him to silence.

 

“No, no, I’m clean, that’s not--” Patrick stammered, desperately trying to remember how to fit syllables together as Pete bit gently into the indent where his neck melted into his shoulder.

 

“Cool, me too.” Pete’s mumbled, still kissing and sucking and Patrick felt his world tilting around the press of his lips, eyes that were liquid brown and filled with something a little in control, a little reckless and a lot tender. “Do you want me to stop?” He asked, and Patrick’s head whipped side-to-side as he felt his heart drop at the thought of _stopping_ . Pete’s smile was wide and _happy_ , and Patrick felt dizzy knowing _he_ was the one who was making him feel like that and he knew he was _lost._  “Then let me do this, _please.”_

 

He couldn’t hold back a groan at the way Pete said _please_ and he pulled him down for another kiss, knowing he was tumbling down a rabbit hole and not caring. Pete bit at his lip, tongue licking with surprising tenderness as his hands roamed his body, eventually reaching down to unbutton his pants and slip a deft hand into his boxers.

 

“ _Fuck, Pete_ \--” Patrick gasped into his mouth and dancing brown eyes came into view as he pulled away.

 

“Yes?” Pete grinned, sliding down and lapping at his nipples, making Patrick gasp and arch his back as his fingers softly stroked his cock which was quickly becoming _very_ interested in their proceedings. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over how fucking _gorgeous_ you are.” Pete teased, and Patrick could feel the solid press of Pete’s own erection against his thigh as he moved down.

 

“No, you’re--” Patrick panted as Pete started to pull his pants down, lifting his hips so Pete could work them off. “You’re the hot one, I--.” He broke off with a moan as Pete nibbled into his stomach, nuzzling his hip bones and pressing searing bites and nips into the flesh.

 

“Mmm-mm.” Pete’s voice was muffled slightly as he bit into his thighs, and Patrick cried out at the way it shot straight to his groin. “I think you’re definitely the ten here, I mean _look_ at you.” He looked up at Patrick and then blatantly dropped his gaze to his rock-hard cock. “ _So pretty_ .” He pressed kisses to his aching length delicately and Patrick felt like he was _dying_ at the tantalizing promise of a wet, hot, slick mouth wrapped around him. “Can I?”

 

There may have been a universe where he was strong enough to shake his head and tell Pete _souls--or lack thereof--come before blowjobs_...but it wasn’t this universe. Patrick felt like their gazes were locked together in a whirlpool of want and desire and he nodded. The answering grin that spread across Pete’s face made something feel like it broke inside him, but it was swept away as his lips sunk down, engulfing him and Patrick threw his head back and whimpered as he thrust his hips up unconsciously.

 

Humming happily around his cock, Pete pressed a gentle hand to still him, the other traveling up to find one of Patrick’s hands. He pulled off long enough to murmur _my hair_ and Patrick got the idea, fingers sliding through the dark strands and tugging gently. Pete moaned and started in earnest, sliding down as far as he could go until his head brushed the back of his throat and Patrick cried out. He continued until Patrick’s thighs were quivering under him then pulled off just as he pushed him to the brink, pressing biting kisses to his hips, fingers dancing delicately along his shaft. “I want to hear you, babe.” He said as he slipped two fingers into his mouth and then pulled them out glistening, sucking down his cock again, his hand moving down to trail over Patrick’s balls, eliciting a truly broken sound to spill from him.

 

Gone were the playful sucks and tantalizing swirls of his tongue, Pete was gulping him down like he was the last drop of water in the desert as his fingers circled his hole, pushing one inside and stroking upwards gently. He added a second one as Patrick began to bear down, grinding down on his hand as he started to gasp, each breath ending with a soft cry. Pete crooked his fingers and then Patrick was shouting his name, coming down his throat as his hands tightened in his hair. Softening his movements, Pete soothed him through it, swallowing down and lapping at him until he shuddered with post-orgasmic bliss.

 

Pulling away, Pete slipped his fingers free and climbed back up over Patrick, hand scrabbling frantically at the fastenings of his own jeans. He groaned as his hand found his cock that was begging for attention and he pressed their lips together. Still trembling, Patrick unburied a shaking hand and batted away Pete’s own, wrapping his fingers around his cock and moving sloppily. Pete didn’t seem to care, rutting into his hand and kissing him deep and desperate, only breaking the kiss to bury his face in his neck and groan out his name as he came.

 

Bonelessly he collapsed onto Patrick, not caring about the mess on their stomachs or the way his pants were wrapped around his knees. Warm arms came up to wrap around him, stroking his back and scratching perfectly along his scalp and he couldn’t help but _nuzzle_ closer.

 

“Wow.” Patrick breathed and Pete lifted his head up like it was heavy, smiling a calm, sated smile that was _beautiful._

 

“Yeah.” Pete smiled. “Me too.” A grin quirked Patrick’s lips and Pete pushed up to kiss gentle and sweet. A long moment later he pulled back and smiled widely. “So, hey...can I say I’m dating you now?” He laughed a quick, bright chirrup. “Cause that was kinda the whole thing I was going for with all this.”

 

Unable to find any words other than the ones that were pressing against his lips, Patrick nodded. “Only as long as I get to say I’m dating you.” Eyes lighting up with joy, Pete nodded ecstatically.

 

“Deal.” He sat up, and Patrick winced at the cooling mess on their stomachs. Pete grabbed some of the pizza napkins from the coffee table and wiped them both clean before throwing them over the couch in the vague direction of the kitchen.

 

“Gross.” Patrick scrunched his face up and Pete shrugged.

 

“My house, my jizz.” He laughed at the look on Patrick’s face and leaned in and pressed another kiss to his lips. “Can we watch _Empire Strikes Back_ and cuddle now like super adorable boyfriends?” Patrick couldn’t help the way his heart clenched when Pete said _boyfriends_ and he sighed, reaching for his shirt.

 

“Guess a shower isn’t in the cards when there’s Star Wars on the table, huh?” Pete shook his head, giving him mournful eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head and his arms through the armholes.

 

“Why won’t you stay shirtless and sticky with me?”

 

“Gross, no.” Patrick glared at him with no real ire, and Pete groaned theatrically as he reached for the remote, pressing play before flopping back to cover Patrick’s chest with his own.

 

“Fine, but I’m not getting dressed. If you weren’t here, I’d be naked already.” Pete leered at him and wriggled his hips, and Patrick laughed.

 

“I have no problem with you in any state of undress.” He said, laughing at Pete’s preening as he dropped his head to nuzzle into Patrick’s neck. Patrick traced soft circles into the skin of his back, and he couldn’t help but press a kiss to the top of Pete’s head.

 

As the words faded into the distant stars and the Super Star Destroyer cruised into view, Patrick’s conscience started to make itself known, reminding him in no uncertain tones that he still had something to say. _He doesn’t know what he just agreed to...what if you can’t actually be there for him? What if you’re just a husk that he’s fallen in love with that will always crumble when he needs you?_ He felt his resolve shudder at the idea of _losing_ this fragile, beautiful thing he had just been given, this golden moment that was a thousand times better than he thought it could be. But he had to...he had to tell him, it was _right_ , it was what he _deserved_.

 

But then Pete squeezed him tightly for a moment before murmuring half-audibly into his chest, “I never thought you’d want me back.” Patrick made a noise of surprise in the back of his throat, and Pete looked up again and gave him that dazzling smile that took his breath away because it was full of things he was afraid to say, afraid to want, and whispered, “This is perfect. _You’re_ perfect.” Then he ducked his head back and laid down, sighing happily.

 

Patrick couldn’t find it in him to do anything but whisper back _So are you_ . As he traced Pete’s spine and listened to him quote every other line, his heart swelled with feelings that felt so _big_ , so _real_ he thought they might just burst out of his chest.

 

 _Who cares if I have a soul or not,_ he thought stubbornly. _This is all I need._

  



	12. Chapter 12

 

They both woke up the next morning to a living room that smelled like stale pizza and the TV buzzing static at them.

 

“Morning, sunshine.” Pete chirruped and Patrick groaned, mumbling something about _fuck mornings and morning people_ that Pete blithely ignored as he handed him his phone. “Here, this thing’s been buzzing for the last hour.” Taking it blearily, Patrick squinted at the screen.

 

“Joe and Andy want to get breakfast,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

 

 **“** _Ohmygosh_ pancakes sound so good!” Pete looked down at him. “Guess Andy didn’t get lucky on his date, huh? Oh, but didn’t you say Joe had food poisoning?” Patrick buried his face in Pete’s chest and groaned.

 

“Ummm...so....” He looked up at Pete with a guilty expression on his face. “I kinda…made that up. So we could be alone.”

 

“Yeah?” Pete gave him a stern look before his face dissolved into a wide smile. “Look at you, little sneaky-McSneakerton. Well, now you don’t have to make anything up to hang out alone with your _boyfriend_.” He pressed a sloppy kiss to Patrick’s cheek before pushing him off to scramble up. “Come on, let’s go!”

 

Patrick groaned as he sat up, pushing his glasses back up on his nose and looked down at his shirt in disgust. “Ugh. I think you missed a spot.” He pointed at the telltale stain and Pete cackled.

 

“Or I have perfect aim!” He held a hand out, which Patrick took as he stood. “Come on, you can have the pick of my closet.”

 

~//~

 

Twenty minutes later they blew into the diner that they frequented because the cook was a friend of Andy’s and kept soy sausage stocked for him. They stomped the snow from their boots and chafed feeling back into their hands--it had been an unseasonably cold and snowy Chicago winter, despite Pete's frequent and futile wheedling for Patrick to melt all the snow. Joe started applauding from where he was sitting next to Andy in their customary back booth, and Patrick blushed as he slid in.

 

“We hazarded a guess that since you didn’t come home last night that we should let you two sit together.” Andy drawled as Pete bounced in next to Patrick.

 

“Yeah, and the fact you're wearing a Slayer T-shirt reinforces that." Joe shook his head at Patrick only to have him look down at his-but-acutally-Pete's-shirt and glare. "But now I have to pay for Andy’s food cause I bet _someone_ was going to waddle in, so thanks for nothing, assholes.” Joe groused into his orange juice, and Patrick sputtered, face turning three shades of pink at once.

 

“No, we didn’t, I mean--”

 

Andy held up a hand. “I don’t want to know.” Pete just snickered and nuzzled Patrick as his neck started to flush, and he pulled the menu up to hide his face from his roommates. However, Pete decided to start making smackingly-loud kissing noises and Patrick ended up slapping him with the laminated paper as Joe laughed.

 

“What can I get you guys?” The waitress came up and took their orders, Patrick elbowing Pete when he tried to take the menu away as he tried to pick what type of fruit he wanted on his waffle. She laughed as she walked away and Andy fixed them both with what they all called _The Dad Look_.

 

“Okay, so I think it’s only fair to establish a few ground rules so nobody dies. One,” he held up a single finger, “no fucking in any of the common areas. I _do not_ want to worry about getting pregnant when I sit on the couch.”

 

“Yeah, and give us some warning if you want to like...just, sock on the door is a good plan.” Joe added helpfully. “Or a text warning us out of the blast radius.”

 

Patrick was turning an even darker shade of red as they spoke, eventually just burying his face in his arms on the table and groaning. Pete, by contrast, seemed to be enjoying the discussion like he was negotiating for a used car.

 

“But like, when you say _fucking_ ...I mean, what if there’s nothing left to make babies with afterwards? I swear I have like _no_ gag reflex and--”

 

“ _PETE!”_ Patrick shoved his boyfriend of eight hours off the booth as Andy and Joe made gagging noises. “I’ll spear you through the heart with an icicle here and now, I swear, and then we’ll _never actually get to fuck_ so why don’t you shut the hell up?”

 

“Gross.” Joe glared as the waitress brought their food over as Pete picked himself up off the floor and slithered back into the booth next to Patrick. “Can we just never talk about this again?”

 

“Yes _please God.”_ Patrick mumbled and started tucking into his waffle covered in strawberries like it could somehow hide him. Andy gave Joe a look as he chewed his tofu hash and rolled his eyes.

 

“So, Pete. The Book of The Faces told me that your birthday is coming up.” Pete nodded and said something incoherent around a mouthful of omelet and Andy smiled. “Well, since you’re part of the family now I think that means we’re having a birthday party.”

 

**~//~**

Patrick was putting the finishing touches on the cake when he heard Pete’s voice ring out. “The party can start now!!!” He laughed under his breath and slid the cake in the fridge just as Pete walked into the kitchen. “It’s my birthday!” Pete sang out tunelessly, and Patrick turned with a smile to kiss him.

 

“Happy Birthday.” Pete laughed and rubbed his nose with Patrick, making him to roll his eyes.

 

“Thanks, sexy pants.” He pulled away and bounced into the living room. “This place looks _amazing_.” Patrick followed him and laughed as Pete flitted around looking at all the decorations.

 

“Yeah, Joe let his interior designer out for sure.”

 

Joe came downstairs with a bright orange party hat on and plopped one on Pete’s head. “Happy birthday, dude!” He handed Pete a box of trojans with a bow stuck on haphazardly. “I’m shit at wrapping so yeah. Mazeltov. Don’t use them all at once.” Patrick heard the doorbell ring and ducked out of the room, ears burning red as Pete laughed.

 

Guests started trickling in--three of Pete’s co-workers (the ones he _didn’t_ hate), his next-door neighbor, a couple of guys from his old band. Some of Andy’s book club friends showed up, and a couple of Joe’s friends from work. Melanie and Rex came from the music store, and after a few minutes of conversation, Pete realized that he knew Rex from back in his band days and that they had actually played a couple of the same shows. That realization led to celebratory shots just as the door opened and a tentative _hello?_

 

“Marie!” Pete smiled broadly as a petite brunette walked into the kitchen, knocking back the shot before wrapping her up in a hug. “So glad you could make it!” Turning around, he put his arm around her like he was displaying a painting. “Everybody, this is Marie. She’s like the sister I never wanted but totally needed. She’s also great at talking the police down from arresting you, FYI.” She rolled her eyes but smiled as everyone surged forward to say hello, and Pete took the opportunity to press a quick kiss to Patrick’s cheek. She eyed them and moved over to give Patrick a hug.

 

“So you’re Patrick?” She smiled at Pete with the bemused affection of someone who had known him forever. “I’m really happy to finally meet you, even though I feel like I already know you because Pete’s talked about you almost non-stop.”

 

“Yeah?” Patrick gave Pete a contemplative look which he returned with a _who me?_ face. Joe sidled up to them and grinned broadly.

 

“So you had to hear the other side of the lovesick mope-fest?” She laughed and nodded.

 

“It was pretty bad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone use so many heart emojis in a single message before.”

 

“You know, Andy and I…” Joe and Marie drifted off, and Patrick gave Pete a look.

 

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

 

“Yep.” Pete looked smug. “I had a feeling they might hit it off. I know he’s like your best friend, but just so you know if Joe hurts her I’m kind of honor-bound to beat him up, just a little.”

 

Patrick laughed. “No argument here. Though Joe is usually the one who ends up crying into a pint of ice cream after _he_ gets dumped, so....” He shrugged, and smiled up at his boyfriend. “You’re a regular little matchmaker, aren’t you?”

 

“Yeah, but I’ve got the best match.” Patrick rolled his eyes in response to that but couldn’t hold back a smile--they’d been officially “dating” for less than a month but Pete had started with the ridiculously cheesy lines almost immediately. For all his huffing and groaning, Patrick admitted he liked them deep down inside.

 

The night passed in a flurry of laughter and questionable antics. They fought Star Wars-style with lightsabers made of blown-up condoms, rocked out to Garage Band, and ate nine pizzas all told.

 

Two games of beer pong in the basement later, Patrick slipped behind Pete and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. “Not playing?” He asked even though he already knew the answer.

 

Pete threaded his hands with Patrick’s and smiled. “Nope, I lost.”

 

“Well…” He pushed up on his tiptoes so his breath would skitter across Pete’s ear. “It _is_ your birthday. You think you’re gonna get lucky tonight?” Stiffening slightly in surprise before turning halfway around to look at Patrick, Pete grinned

 

“Ummm....I don’t know? Am I?” Smiling slyly, Patrick bit his bottom lip and nodded.

 

“I think you’ve got a solid chance of it if you headed up to your boyfriend’s room in about five minutes.” With that, he squeezed Pete’s waist and then moved away. Looking at his phone, Pete waited four minutes and then slipped through the open door and nearly broke his legs in his dash upstairs. Getting laid in _any_ fashion on his birthday was the best thing he could imagine...but they hadn’t gone all the way, Joe’s joking protestations of disbelief non-withstanding. Maybe tonight would be _that night_ , and on his birthday no less. Patrick was sitting on the bed kicking off his pants when Pete barreled in, shutting the door behind him like there was a hoard of zombies chasing him. Eyes bright, he looked up and scooted back on the bed, beckoning Pete with a smile as his fingers moved to the first button of his shirt. Pete was on top of him in an instant, shoes forgotten on the floor as he pushed his hands away and started on the buttons himself, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Patrick’s neck as his hands slid up Pete’s back, pushing his t-shirt up and off.

 

Shirts off, he rolled them over to press Pete down to the bed before climbing up to straddle his hips. Singing _happy birthday_ lowly in his ear as his hands worked at Pete’s belt buckle, he laughed as Pete’s breath stuttered when he got his hand in his boxers to give his rapidly-hardening dick a lazy stroke. “ _Happy birthday dear Peeettteeee…”_ He sang as he pulled the pants off and pressed a kiss to his hip, “ _Happy birthday to you.”_ He pushed his remaining clothing off before settling back down to dance gentle fingers over him. “What do you want, birthday boy?” Pete whimpered as his hand circled around him, stroking firmly down and then back up. “You can have whatever you want.”

 

“ _‘Trick…”_ Pete groaned, arching up into his touch, chasing his hand.

 

“Yes?” His voice was smug as he pressed kisses into the indent of Pete’s groin, biting gently and making him jolt. “Come on, use your words.” His hands dipped under his thighs to dig into the flesh of Pete’s ass as he pressed a soft kiss to where his balls met his body.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Patrick, _Fuck.”_ He groaned as Patrick swallowed him down, not sucking but just letting his mouth envelop Pete’s cock in warmth, before hollowing his cheeks and bringing his lips all the way up.

 

“You want to fuck, hmm?” He teased, crawling up to claim Pete’s mouth in a searing kiss, all teeth and tongue and challenge. “How do want it? You want to open me up, let me ride you?” Pete moaned as one of his hands slid down to tweak his nipple. “You want me to suck you and let you ride my hand until you’re begging for me to fuck you into the mattress?” Pete arched up into him, gasping out a torrent of _yesyesyesfuckpatrick_ and he laughed softly. “Ahhhh...that’s the winner, huh?” Pete just nodded frantically as Patrick slipped back down his body, peppering it with kisses and bites. Reaching his hips, he mouthed at his cock teasingly before swallowing him down, searching fingers feeling into the dresser drawer for the small bottle and foil packets. Pete was oblivious to his quest, thrusting up gently until he brought lube-slicked fingers to gently circle at his hole and he let loose a long, pained groan. He began moving down, Pete whimpering as first one, then two dipped inside him to stroke and feather with infinite attentiveness. He circled the sensitive head lightly with his tongue, before dipping down and working all the best tricks that he totally _hadn’t_ read about in an old issue of _Cosmopolitan_ while in the dentist’s office.

 

“I--’Trick--” Pete’s words dissolved into a gasp as he pulled off to tongue at his balls, circling the paper-thin skin like it was going to melt under his touch and looking up at Pete’s arched back. He worked a third finger in as he bit at the meat of his thigh, swirling his tongue into the indentations left by his teeth before sucking him down again, listening to Pete’s moans as something delicious and possessive curled in his gut. Sternly pushing away the way his own cock was straining against his boxer briefs, he focused on making good on his word, on making Pete _beg_. Fingers crooked delicately, attentive to the way Pete twitched when he stroked _here_ and the way he shuddered when he touched _there_ . He smiled around him as he felt the compulsive tightening as he brushed his prostate, at the way Pete arched his back and cried out before clamping his hand over his mouth as his head snapped over to look at the closed door. Disjointed bits of conversation and laughter drifted up to them, punctuated with a stumbling sound as someone fumbled towards the upstairs bathroom. With a devilish smile, Patrick parted his lips to swallow him down again, only for gentle fingers to brush his temples as they twisted into his hair to keep him at bay. He looked up to see Pete looking at him with undisguised pleading. “Want you _now.”_

 

 _“_ Hmmmm _…”_ Patrick allowed him to pull him up, fingers slipping free. He wiped them quickly on his discarded shirt before coming up to cradle his head and dip down for a searing kiss. “If that’s what you want, birthday boy.”

 

“Fuck, ‘Trick _please_ …” He could feel the way Pete was trembling and he couldn’t help but hope it was just with a tiny bit of the nerves he was feeling himself as he nodded...he wanted this to be good, _he_ wanted to be good for him. Nobody wanted bad sex on their birthday, but that didn’t seem to be on Pete’s mind as he grabbed the condom and slicked him up, making Patrick groan at the sensation of his lubed fingers dancing over his rock-hard cock. He slid it on and spread his legs wider, eyes dark like midnight as his mouth dropped open at the feeling of Patrick pressing himself to Pete’s entrance. “ _Yes….”_

 

 _“_ Tell me if you need me to to stop and I will.” Patrick cautioned as Pete wrapped his legs around his waist, urging him closer. Nodding, Pete pulled him down for another kiss as he pushed in, just breaching the tightness of the powerful ring of muscle. It took everything in him to not just thrust in all the way as he was enveloped in the most perfect warmth he’d ever felt. But he felt Pete tense and he stilled, licking into his mouth filthily until he felt him relax and then he continued, kissing him like they needed each other’s mouths to breathe until he bottomed out.

 

“You okay?” He gasped out, hearing the haggardness of his own voice as he struggled to stay still, to give him the time he needed. Pete was breathing hard, eyes closed and hands tight around his shoulders but he nodded, opening one and managing a shaky smile.

 

“Yeah, just...give me a minute. It’s been a while.”

 

Patrick just nodded, pressing soft kisses to his neck, mouthing at his collarbone. “As long as you need. _Fuck_ you’re so gorgeous, you have no idea.” He caught his mouth again, tenderly plumbing it like he could find all his secrets there and before long Pete was whining under him, hips starting to move gently but without the leverage he craved. With a gasp that echoed from both of their lips, Patrick pulled out just a bit and thrust back in, building up the tempo until Pete was a writhing mess crying out _so good, so good, so much, more more ‘Trick please God fuck_ as Patrick buried his face to make a line of searing bites down his neck.

 

 _“God_ , babe.” He gasped out, pulling his body back to carefully press Pete’s legs over his shoulders before thrusting again, a satisfied smile twitching over his lips at the way his back arched and he let out a sharp cry as the new position made him brush his prostate just the right way. “You’re so hot, _so fucking amazing_ , you have no idea.” Pete’s hands were fisting and flopping over the comforter spastically, opening and closing, and it made something twist under his heart. “Touch me,” he whispered, cradling Pete’s face in his palm as he bit gently at his ear.

 

“ _Jesusfuck_ yes _.”_ Pete angled his hips up in an attempt to get closer, chasing the taste of his release in the movement of their hips and Patrick _let go_. He braced his knees more firmly in the bed and _moved_ , his other hand slipping down to the rock-hard length of Pete’s cock between them, leaking in its state of purposeful neglect. Pete let out a shout as he ran his thumb over the slit, working the slickness he found there around the head and then down as he twisted his wrist down to work over the sensitive flesh. Jumbled nonsense started to fall from Patrick’s lips as he worked him over, thrusting in time with his hand, murmuring in his ear how perfect he was, how hard he was going to make him come, that he was going to fuck him all night if that’s what it took to make him scream his name….

 

With a curse and a cry Pete did just that, raking his nails across Patrick’s back as his body trembled and bowed beneath him, shooting thick and hot over his hand. The sight of it was enough to let Patrick release his tenuous hold on his self-control, thrusting once, twice more until he fell over the brink with him.

 

A tiny eternity later, Pete mumbled something that sounded half like his name and half like a protest as he released his hands and pulled out, rolling off him and tumbling to the bed in an undignified flurry of elbows and hands. Gasping, Patrick pulled the condom off and threw it hopefully in the direction of his wastebasket, all while mentally applauding with the tiny corner of his brain that was still working for still having fine motor control. Like a caterpillar Pete curled into him with a moan, hands grabbing at him and pulling him close.

 

“Best birthday ever.” He mumbled into Patrick’s chest, pressing a kiss to the fine, downy hairs and breathing deeply the smell of sex-sated boyfriend.

 

“You want to go back downstairs in a bit?” Patrick ran his hand through Pete’s hair gently, smiling as he hummed in pleasure. But he shook his head and reached over to pull the nightstand light’s cord, bathing the room in moonlit darkness as he burrowed back into Patrick’s arms.

 

“Nope. This is all the party I want.”


	13. Chapter 13

It was a frost-encased January morning--early light spilling through the windows in the kitchen in dim swaths. Pete shuffled in, intent on making coffee when he saw he wasn’t alone. 

 

“Morning.” He rasped--his throat was still a bit raw from the way Patrick had used it the night before, and Pete’s toes curled a bit as the memory washed through him. Andy gave him a head nod and a smile as he stuck another bite of  _ something _ in his mouth and he went over to the coffee maker and began to try to coax it to life. 

 

Ten minutes later, he was settling next to Andy in the breakfast nook cradling a steaming cup and a piece of toast slathered with peanut butter. “Whatcha eating?” He asked, eyeing the bowl full of a gelatinous mass that looked suspiciously like tadpole eggs. 

 

“Chia pudding.” Andy supplied, dropping a few more raspberries in before taking another bite. He swallowed and held out a spoonful. “Want to try? It’s chia seeds, rice milk and honey.” 

 

Pete shook his head. “Nah, I think I’ll pass, thanks.” He bit into his toast and made a face. “But hey, you do you.” Andy nodded and picked up his book again--the _ Collected Works of Franz Kafka _ he noted without surprise--and Pete started scrolling through his phone. They ate in amiable silence until a  _ stumble-thump _ punctuated by a muffled curse and a groan alerted them that Patrick was incoming. 

 

“Morning, sunshine!” Pete chirruped, and Patrick simply glared as he slid onto the bench next to Pete. He leaned heavily against him before pulling the coffee from his hands and took a long swig, ignoring his boyfriend’s protest. But then he set the cup down and made a face.

 

“Fuck, did you have to put a literal  _ pound _ of cream and sugar into that?” He scrunched his face up and shuffled over to the gurgling coffee maker to pour himself a mug before plopping back down next to Pete. Taking a sip, he smiled and leaned back. “Much better.” 

 

“Whatever.” Pete laughed softly, “I just like my coffee like I like my lovers--sweet and creamy.” Patrick groaned at his admittedly horrible pun and Andy threw something wet at him--Pete plucked it off his face to find it was a small pile of seaweed. “Dude, that’s disgusting.”

 

“Just like you.” Andy replied with a grin and they all settled back into easy silence. Patrick finished his coffee and laid his head on the table and sighed. 

 

“Why do mornings suck so much?” He turned his head to glare at Pete, “I can practically feel you trying to make that into a joke, so just don’t.” Pete muttered something about  _ pissy _ and Patrick looked at the table’s other occupant. “Can I have some strawberries?” 

 

Andy didn’t look up from his book. “Yeah, just get me something to change.” Patrick shuffled to the fridge and pulled out what looked like a sadly-wilted stalk of celery and put it on a plate. Setting his book down, Andy waved his hand over the plate and the stalk seemed to  _ expand _ and became a pile of ripe strawberries. 

 

“That is seriously so fucking cool.” Pete said as he grabbed one, slapping Patrick’s hand away playfully as they both reached out. “Why the celery?” 

 

“It’s way easier to convert something than to make it.” Andy answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Pete shrugged--guess it made sense. Patrick mumbled something that sounded like  _ sitting is hard _ and took his mug and the plate and headed towards the living room. Pete laughed to himself and ate the strawberry he had snagged, looking at Andy when he put his book down. “He’s been like that since he was a kid. You should have seen him in high school--he wouldn’t even talk until fourth period.” 

 

Trying to imagine Patrick as a teenager, Pate shrugged. “I can see that. He’s definitely the opposite of a morning person.” 

 

“Once he had to give some sort of presentation in second period economics....he told me he woke up at four that morning to start drinking coffee and psych himself up for it.” Shaking his head, Andy smiled. “He’s such a night owl.” 

 

“I wish. I just don’t sleep, insomnia is a bitch.” Stretching back with his arms above his head, he glanced down at his phone. It pinged with a message from Patrick and when he opened it, he rolled his eyes at Andy. “His Royal Sleepiness is summoning me to the couch to bring more coffee.” They chuckled together and Andy looked at his watch. 

 

“I’ll see you guys later--got a workout class to teach.” He put his dishes in the sink as Pete grabbed the coffee carafe and headed to the living room, pouring more black gold into Patrick’s cup before sitting down.

 

“Anything else you want, your majesty?” 

 

The mountain of throw-blanket and fluffy bedhead shifted enough for a blue-green eye to glare at him. “Shut the fuck up and come cuddle with me, asshole. You deprived me of cuddling when I woke up, so get over here and pay your dues.” Pete laughed as he slithered under the blankets and pulled Patrick to rest half on his chest, deciding this was an acceptable way to spend the morning. “Want to be five and watch cartoons? I’ve got the He-Man boxed set.” Patrick mumbled, and Pete was pretty sure he fell in love a little more.

 

~//~

 

Grabbing his keys, Pete tumbled out the door when he heard the insistent honking from downstairs. 

 

“Let’s go!” He shouted as he threw himself in the backseat, pressing not-accidentally against Patrick, and Andy obligingly stomped on the gas pedal. “I’m so fucking stoked to see these guys!” Patrick made a huffing noise as he shoved Pete into his seat and barked out to put on his seatbelt. 

 

“I’ve heard they’re pretty hit-and-miss.” Joe said from front seat, voice garbled as he mowed through a bag of cool ranch doritos. “Let’s just hope that today’s a hit.” 

 

The drive to the bar was filled with Andy and Joe flipping the channels on each other as they argued about what kind of music best prepared you for an underground show. Pete took the opportunity to sneak a kiss onto Patrick’s lips, and his heart beat an extra  _ thump _ at the way his cheeks were painted with just the hint of a blush when he pulled away. 

 

“No making babies in my backseat!” Andy yelled and Pete just let out a pornorgraphic moan as he laid his head on Patrick’s shoulder, the front seat making hacking noises in response.

 

The venue was perfectly suited for an underground metal band--dark, with a grimy looking bar and only a few tables. They wound their way through the crowd, Pete’s hand tightly twined with Patrick’s, pushing into the flow of bodies to an empty table to the right of the stage. “I’ll go get us a round.” Pete offered and headed off without waiting for an answer, coming back a few minutes later with three beers and a club soda for Andy. They drank and enjoyed the companionable hubbub of the club, and Pete tilted his glass at Patrick. “Want another?” 

 

He shook his head. “Nah, not like it’s gonna do anything.” Pete gave him a questioning glance and then looked at Joe. 

 

“Is this a Sagani thing? Do you have something against beer?” 

 

“Not me!” Joe held his up and they clinked glasses, before chugging them to slam empty on the table. Patrick rolled his eyes and sipped his drink mildly before leaning close so Pete could hear him over the din. “Regular alcohol doesn’t affect us...so it’s really just an expensive drink for nothing.” 

 

“So you can’t get drunk?” Pete pulled away slightly to turn and look at at Patrick with a shocked look. “Like at all?” 

 

“No we can.” His lips twisted in a small, wry grin. “You know how people used to say that Absinthe would make you see stuff, green fairies that kind of thing? That started because someone got a hold of some Sagani Absinthe...it’s distilled with differently and we use our powers to make it. That’s what we drink when we actually want to get smashed.” 

 

“Noted.” Pete grinned. “I want to see this sometime, the house full of drunk Elementals.” Patrick rolled his eyes but then winced as the band started to come on, fiddling with their instruments. 

 

“God, someone needs to show them how to set up a soundboard.” He grumbled and Andy nudged him with raised eyebrows.

 

“I think tonight God’s answer to your prayers is you.” Patrick looked uneasy, but Andy gave him a look that was half encouragement and half admonishment and he sighed. “Fine, fine, but only because I don’t want to be bleeding out my ears by the end of the night.” He swallowed the rest of his beer and then pushed away from the table, winding through the crowd towards the stage. He turned back and glared at Pete when he let out a loud whistling catcall, and then vanished behind a stack of amps. 

 

“You’re disgusting.” Joe said fondly, and Pete gave him a wide grin. 

 

“Right. Because you never think anything but brotherly thoughts about Marie, do you?” He raised an eyebrow and Joe choked on his beer.

 

“Umm...no, I mean...” He gave Pete a look that was half bashfulness, half hope. “Are you going to punch me?” 

 

Laughing gleefully at his friend’s blundering assertions, Pete smiled. “I’m not going to tell you anything except you should follow your heart.” 

 

Groaning, Joe rolled his eyes as Patrick came back to the table and threw himself in the chair in a huff. “Shit, their stuff was so fucked it wasn’t even funny. They would have blown out at least two of their amps if they had tried to play like that.” 

 

“Look at you, saving the day like a Musical Fairy Godmother.” Pete nudged his boyfriend and grinned at him, earning a patented Patrick glare.

 

“Yeah, shame I forgot my tutu and magic wand.” He drawled, but gave Pete a small begrudging smile as he grabbed Andy’s water and took a sip. “It should be good to go now, unless that idiot they’re calling a tech decides to try to  _ improve _ it again.” 

 

The first strains of guitar split the air and Pete jumped up, grinning. “Come on, we’re  _ not _ hanging out in the back like old people.”

 

“But we  _ are _ the old people.” Joe pointed out but got up anyways, following Pete as he dragged a grousing Patrick through the crowd. 

 

“ _ Hello Chicago!! We’re Guts and Glory, let’s fuckin’ rock!!”  _ The lead singer shouted into the mic, and whatever he said next was lost in the wall of guitar that washed over the assembled crowd. Pete grabbed Patrick’s hand as he started to bounce on the balls of his feet, feeling the music  _ vibrating _ in his chest and decided everything was perfect.

 

~//~

 

Several months later, spring had burst on Chicago with a vengeance. Pulling up to the house, Pete parked his car in the driveway and dashed inside, pulling his jacket close to his body against the pull of the tempestuous gusts. “Fuck that wind!” He gasped as he pushed the door closed, pulling his jacket off and hanging it on the pegs. “They said on the radio there’s a tornado watch and they’re expecting to upgrade it to a tornado warning within the hour.” Two of the house’s three occupants looked up at him from the couch--Joe and Andy were playing Halo and Patrick was curled up in the armchair, nose buried in his laptop with huge headphones on his head. He threw himself down on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Thanks for letting me crash here. If a tornado  _ does _ touch down, my apartment doesn’t stand a chance. I mean, I doubt it’ll happen but better safe than sorry.” 

 

“That’s true.” Andy acknowledged. “Now shut up, I’m trying to kill Joe.” 

 

Pete huffed. “Anybody want tea?” He nudged Patrick, who pulled his headphones off one ear with a wide-eyed expression. 

 

“Oh! Pete, hey.” He smiled, and Pete felt his heart warm even as he rolled his eyes. 

 

“Hey,  _ boyfriend _ , nice to see you too. Want some tea?” 

 

“Yes please.” Patrick gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I was just working on this song that’s been stuck in my head all week and--” 

 

“Yeah, yeah I know...I come second when there’s music on the brain.” He smiled to be sure Patrick knew he wasn’t mad. “What kind do you want?”

 

“Green.” Patrick replied with a smile of his own. “Thanks.” Pete hummed to himself as he went into the kitchen, fixing two glasses and carrying them back out. 

 

“Where’d ‘Trick go?” 

 

Joe didn’t look up, just tilted his head to the side. “He’s on the porch.” Pete let out a confused  _ huh _ but when neither of them reacted, he decided to just leave his oddly-unconcerned friends to their warmongering and grabbed his coat before going outside. 

 

“Whatcha doin’, crazy?” He sat down next to Patrick, surprised to see a carefree smile on his face as he handed him his mug. Most of his hair was tucked under his beanie, but his bangs feathered around his face in the wind, dancing like dragonfly wings. His feet were dangling off the side of the porch and he was kicking them gently, and Pete decided that he liked this look on him. It was like all the tension had bled out of him that he usually carried in the line of his shoulders, in the corners of his mouth. 

 

“Just watching the storm.” Patrick said as he took a gentle sip. “Thanks for the tea.” Making a  _ you’re welcome _ noise, Pete smiled as Patrick leaned his head on his shoulder; a warm, heavy weight that made him feel grounded and safe despite the wind wailing around them and the sky’s foreboding shade of greenish-gray. A buzzing shook him out of his reverie and he pulled his phone from his back pocket, swiping to open the weather alert. 

 

“Shit, there’s three funnel clouds outside the city.” He scrolled through the text. “None have touched down, but there’s four more that are showing…” He squinted at the screen. “ _ Intense low-level rotation. _ Huh.” Patrick just hummed and Pete pulled away a bit to look down at him. “Don’t you think we should maybe go inside?”

 

“Um, did you forget who you’re dating?” Patrick tilted his head up and gave him a dazzling smile that took his breath away. 

 

“Not for a minute. He’s this  _ super _ hot guy with these incredible eyes and the world’s most gorgeous skin and the best smile in the universe.” Pete leaned close, drawn in by the spell of the twinkle in Patrick’s eyes. 

 

“That sounds like some patented Pete Wentz embellishment to me.” Patrick replied, his lips tucking up in a smirk as he leaned closer. 

 

“Definitely not.” Pete smiled in return, deciding he was a  _ huge _ fan of this relaxed, carefree Patrick. “All truth, you should see his mouth. It’s the greatest thing in the world.” 

 

“Oh yeah?” He could feel Patrick’s breath skittering across his skin, and he held back a shiver.

 

“ _ Damn straight _ .” With that final pronouncement, he pressed their lips together and couldn’t help but smile at the way Patrick sighed into it, melting against him soft and warm. Somehow he had the presence of mind to set his mug down on the deck, and then his hands were sliding up to cradle Patrick’s face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. He heard Patrick humming, and suddenly a warm breeze ruffled around them and Pete could have sworn he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Pulling away, he looked around to see the storm still howling, the trees lining the streets bent and swaying in the tempest, but their enclave on the porch was still--a tiny, improbable eye in the storm. Patrick let out a contented sigh, sitting back and resting his weight on his hands and Pete looked back at him. “So...inside? Not dying in a tornado? I didn’t bring my ruby slippers to take us home to Kansas.”

 

“ _ Nerepolesi, _ remember?” Patrick replied. “I’m better than any footwear.” Pete shook his head, chagrined, and laughed at the smug look on Patrick’s face. 

 

“You sure are.” Pivoting, he laid down with his head in Patrick’s lap and sighed as a gentle hand started carding through his hair, feeling peace sinking into his bones.

 

The wind whistled and howled around them as Patrick laughed with the storm.

 

~//~

 

The weak light bleeding through the blinds the next day told him it was definitely morning and that the storm had passed. The warmly still, solid weight pressed to his back told him that it was still  _ too _ morning for Patrick. He could feel the steady rise-and-fall of his chest lulled him into a haze of half-sleep and memories. It was his favorite thing, these mornings with Patrick--he looked forward to them with eagerness that normally would have embarrassed him with its intensity, but he found he really didn’t care. Evenings when their schedules lined up of pizza and video games with Andy and Joe, Patrick’s feet on his lap as he fussed with GarageBand were amazing, but mornings with Patrick were  _ perfect _ . 

 

His toes curled as he drifted through the memories of the previous night--they were hazy around the edges but crystal clear in their perfection. It wasn’t very often that you could say sex was  _ perfect _ , he reflected...usually there was some sort of awkward moment, someone accidentally punched somebody in the balls...but not with Patrick. 

 

_ “Night, guys.” Patrick said from the bottom of the stairs and Pete felt a moment of dissonance--hadn’t he just gotten up to get something to drink? But their eyes locked from across the room, and a tiny half-smile quirked the corner of Patrick’s full, perfect lips and Pete suddenly realized he REALLY needed to get some sleep too.  _

 

_ “Yeah, night guys!” He scampered off the couch and ran up the stairs, Patrick shaking his head and plodding up at his normal speed. Tumbling into Patrick’s room, he sat on the bed and started to kick off his sneakers, wondering why he hadn’t taken them off earlier, before he was accosted by a lapful of grinning boyfriend.  _

 

_ “Hey, hey you.” Patrick tipped his chin up with a delicate finger, and he was lost in seashore eyes, sky meeting sand meeting forest. He opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by Patrick’s mouth sealing itself over his, the kiss warm and tasting faintly of the peach cider he had become obsessed with lately.  _

 

_ Deft fingers worked at his belt buckle, slipping into his briefs and stroking him fully to life and he couldn’t help the way he whined into Patrick’s mouth. A low chuckle spilled up from his chest as he pushed him back on the bed, pushing his pants down as Pete set to work on his clothes, pausing to cup his ass hungrily before pushing them off his hips. Several minutes later they were both gloriously naked, though he admitted with a tiny part of his brain that they could have made it there much faster if they hadn’t been trying to swallow the others’ tongues the whole time.  _

 

_ He heard the telltale sound of Patrick sliding his bedside table open and fumbling for the lube--they had both gotten tested months ago so now condoms were a distant memory--and he tried to spread his legs. But instead Patrick pulled away, pressing the lube to his hand and flopping to the bed next to him with an impish gleam in his eye. _

 

_ “You’re not the only one who likes to get fucked, so make it good.”  _

 

_Unable to hold back the way his cock leapt at the thought, Pete was nodding furiously, sliding down to bite at the delicious curve of Patrick’s thigh as he slicked his fingers up. He flicked through the memories like one of those old-fashioned flip-books--Patrick gasping as he found his prostate, gritting out a mumbled fuck as his hands tightened compulsively in his hair. The way his eyes rolled back as he pushed into him, lower lip bitten between his teeth and chest heaving. The ridiculously melodic noises he made as Pete started to thrust, growing higher as they neared the end and Pete’s errant thought that NOBODY_ _should look that hot, it should be ILLEGAL. The way Patrick had pulled him down and gasped into his mouth, kissing him desperately and deep, body slackening and coiling all at once as he came wailing his name._

 

He cracked his eyes open, the memory washing over him as his cock reminded him that there  _ was _ such a thing as morning wood and such thoughts  _ did not _ help. Shimmying around, he took in Patrick’s slack-jawed face and he felt things squeezing around his heart, words that he was afraid to say but that skittered around his head like marbles bouncing across a frozen lake. He pressed a soft kiss to half-open lips, gratified at how they tucked up into a ghost of a smile before Patrick licked them and burrowed back into the pillow. 

 

“‘Trick?” He smoothed his hair out of his face, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks and forehead. “Baby, wake up. It’s morning.” He was rewarded with a grunt for his efforts, and he pressed the advantage, pulling the blankets down from where Patrick had them tucked around his chin like a kid. “It’s a beautiful day, just like you.” 

 

A sound like rocks cracking echoed from the bundle of sheets and Patrick pulled the blankets tighter. A mumble that sounded very much like  _ fuck off _ came from where he was trying to burrow under the pillow and Pete decided to go for it. He pulled the pillow back while simultaneously sliding a hand under Patrick’s shirt and towards his  _ own _ impressive specimen of morning wood...

 

“ _ I’llbreakyourhandIsweartoGod _ .” Patrick ground out, nailing him with a shockingly-accurate elbow despite his eyes still being closed before turning and burrowing under the pillow he had grabbed from Pete and pulled the covers up like a shield. Unable to hold back a snicker that made his now-bruised ribs throb, Pete regarded the Impenetrable Mountain of Stumph that occupied more than half the bed and gave up. 

 

Swinging his feet over the side, he grabbed the pair of pajama pants he had left the weekend before and opened the bedroom door, ever-careful of the broken handle that Patrick  _ still _ hadn’t fixed. He padded down the hallway, pausing at Andy’s open door. 

 

“Morning, dude!” 

 

Andy--fully dressed and looking like he’d been up for hours--swiveled around in his office chair, turning away from his desk. Pulling out one of his earbuds, he held up his hand. 

 

“Hang on, I’m learning sign language, so I’m gonna practice.” He extended his middle finger, giving Pete the bird. “This means  _ good morning Pete and I swear to God you owe me a new pair of eardrums for how loud you two were last night.” _ His stern expression melted away after a long moment where Pete replayed the night  _ again _ and reflected they  _ might _ have been a bit more than silent. Andy reformed his fingers into a thumbs-up. “This means  _ thank fucking God for noise-cancelling headphones _ \--” he held his other hand up in a similar sign. “And this means  _ way to go, get some.” _

 

Pete rubbed the back of his neck, amusingly chastised and gave Andy what he hoped was a concurrently-apologetic and cheerful smile. “Thanks, and I’m sorry?” He glanced at the desk. “I’m gonna make some coffee, you want some?” 

 

“That’d be great.” Andy replaced his earbud as he turned back around. “Just pour some of the coconut creamer in it for me, it’s on the top shelf.” 

 

Heading towards the stairs, Pete thought that a morning of coffee-in-bed with a slowly-metamorphosing Patrick was definitely his definition of  _ perfect. _


	14. Chapter 14

 

“H-Hello?” No sound came from the other end, and Patrick pulled the phone away from his ear to squint at the screen, the dim blue-grey light just before dawn filtering through his curtains. “Pete?” 

 

“--’Trick?” He could hear something that sounded between a gasp and a sob coming from the line now, and it made his heart squeeze with fear. “I’m sorry, I woke you up I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have, fuck I’ll--” 

 

“ _ Pete _ . What is it, are you alright?” Patrick cut him off and silence fell on the other end except for the sound of labored breathing. 

 

“No.” Pete’s voice was small, ashamed, terrified. 

 

“Where are you, I’ll come--” 

 

There was a hiccuping sound. “I’m on your porch.” Dropping the phone, Patrick grabbed the nearest pair of pajama pants from the pile of dubiously-clean laundry and crept as quickly as he dared while still trying to be quiet to the front door. Cracking it open, he poked his head out and saw him. Pete was curled in a ball next to one of the large stonework pillars, his head on his knees. Making sure the door was unlocked, Patrick shut it behind him quietly and moved to Pete, sinking down next to him. 

 

“Pete…” Patrick reached out to pull him into his arms, but as soon as his hands touched him Pete flinched and curled up tighter. Pain stabbed into Patrick’s heart right next to the terrible feeling of failure--he didn’t know how to help the person he cared about the most. Sitting down, he put his hands in his lap and hoped it would be enough to just  _ be there _ , to stay with Pete so he knew he wasn’t alone. He thought back to all the articles he had read about anxiety and bipolar disorder, tried to remember what they said about how to help, but it all seemed terribly abstract at the moment. So he just sat in the silence, nervously twisting a small ribbon of water between his fingers.

 

“I--I’ve had this dream since I was nine.” Pete’s voice was soft, shaky, full of hesitancy and fear. “There’s this house, the windows are all stained glass...blue stained glass.” He fell silent, and Patrick decided that he should do the same--Pete would tell him what he wants to know, in his own time. There’s a sound like a sniffle and he continues. “I’m terrified, but I know I have to go inside, that someone’s in there I have to save. That they’re going to be hurt. Sometimes I’m alone, sometimes someone’s with me...but it doesn’t matter. I open the door and tiptoe through the house and I  _ hate _ myself for being so afraid. But then I round the corner and there they are, laying in the middle of this big empty library. I run to them and I can feel bullets whizzing by me, I can fucking  _ hear _ them whistling but I still go. I grab them but I’m too weak to pick them up, so I just curl around them...and then I wake up. I never know if they’re alive or if I was too late.” 

 

Patrick isn’t sure what to say...what can he say? It’s a dream, and not a particularly scary sounding one at that. He’s never really had many nightmares, except for when he was a child but those are just distant memories, cobwebbed and dusty, so he isn’t sure what to do. 

 

“I’m sure whoever you were trying to save was fine Pete. Maybe just...asleep? Or knocked out?” 

 

It’s silent for a while, then Patrick hears Pete’s voice, even lower, husky. “When I was a kid, it was my mom I was trying to save. When they...after I told them, my sister Hillary was the only one who didn’t hate me. It was her for  _ years _ .” Slowly, Pete unfolds, his head coming up in a way that bizarrely reminds Patrick of a turtle coming out of it’s shell. His breath catches in his throat as he sees how red Pete’s eyes are, the pain that seems to fill them like liquid copper, and he realizes then that his assurances are weak, too meager to staunch back pain like that. Tears fall from his eyes as he whispered hoarsely, “Now it’s you.” 

 

The enormity of it strikes Patrick then, the depth of Pete’s dedication to him and how words like  _ depression  _ and  _ bipolar _ mean something entirely new in that context. He realizes that Pete’s love makes him vulnerable, it’s a new way for his mind to hurt him... 

 

And Pete  _ knows _ that and  _ still _ he chooses to love Patrick, he  _ chooses _ to leave himself unprotected. 

 

Suddenly Patrick can’t take it, can’t take how far away Pete is, how fragile his flesh is stretched over breakable bones. He reaches out and pulls Pete in, rising to his knees and cradling Pete against his chest, his head tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around him like he could keep him safe forever. Pete’s hands fist into his shirt and he feels hot tears soaking through to his skin. He’s murmuring things that might be words, that might be reassurances, might be a phrase he promised himself he wouldn’t say...but Pete doesn’t seem to hear. He’s shaking, sobbing into Patrick’s chest as he rambles out his fears. 

 

“I know it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream but you were so real and I...I woke up and I tried to tell myself you were alright, that it wasn’t real, but I just couldn’t, all I could see was your face and I didn’t know if you were still breathing and I just  _ had to know _ if you were alright, I’m sorry I’m so sorry I just couldn’t make it stop--” 

 

“Shhh…” Patrick’s hands find Pete’s cheeks, thumbs sweeping away tears that just fall from his eyes all over again as he pulls him out of where he seems to be trying to burrow into him, so he could see those wide, brown eyes. “Pete, I’m here. I’m fine, I promise.” 

 

“You promise?” Pete’s voice was still shaky, full of questions that Patrick didn’t know if he had the answers to, and he realized what Pete was asking. He wanted to know if Patrick was going to melt away and disappear or if he was  _ safe _ , if Pete could depend on him. It shook him to the core, what he saw in Pete’s eyes, and he wondered for a moment if he even  _ could _ promise him that, if his assurances were nothing more than well-meaning lies. But then he realized he  _ wanted _ to give that to him, he  _ wanted _ to be that for Pete...and that no matter what, it wasn’t a matter of  _ could _ or  _ couldn’t.  _ He  _ would _ . He would find a way.

 

“I promise.” He spoke the words as he pressed his lips to Pete’s, like if he could just breathe in his words all the demons would be gone, that he would be safe. 

 

Pete was still shaking when Patrick pulled away, he was still shaking as Patrick pulled him to his feet and into the house, out of the cold pre-dawn light. He shook as Patrick sat him down on the bed, took off his shoes and pants and then pulled him close. He was cold, his skin icy against Patrick’s but the shaking stopped and soon Pete began to breathe deeply. Patrick rubbed circles on his back, ran his fingers gently through his hair...anything to keep the fear away. He felt Pete start to relax, tightly coiled muscles start to unwind and his grip on Patrick to loosen slightly. 

 

“Love you, ‘Trick.” Pete’s voice was slurred, sleep-drunk, but he must have felt Patrick stiffen. He pulled his head back, looking up at him, apologies and concern in on his face. “You don’t have to say it, I’m sorry, I just, I couldn’t stop thinking earlier that, you had to know, I _had_ to tell you in case--” 

 

“I love you too.” The words were out before he could even stop them, before he even realized that he had opened his mouth. A look like the sunrise spread over Pete’s face and Patrick found himself smiling back, found him whispering the words to Pete over and over as he pulled him back in and soothed him to sleep. 

 

But as the dawn light crept through the gaps in his curtains, painting stripes across the ceiling in hues of gold and orange, Patrick lay awake. Uncertainty and fear held his heart in an unending spiral that he could feel vibrating inside him like a loose coil. 

 

_ I love Pete. _ His heart whispered and he knew it was true--he knew it without a shadow of a doubt or a shred of reservation. But this...was he enough for  _ this?  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another reminder...if you haven't seen the beautiful art @solikethesea made for this chapter, go check it out!! You can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12317622) on ao3, and rebloggable [here](https://destinylaughing.tumblr.com/post/166227887132/aaaaaaand-here-it-is-my-work-for-the-2017-bandom) on tumblr


	15. ~Interlude~

_ Can a being without a soul be everything he needs?  _

 

_ My mind flows back to the way Pete flinched when I tried to touch him on the stoop, and I hate myself for not knowing what he needed, for messing it up. Maybe if I had a soul I would know what to do, I would be able to say what Pete needed to hear to take away the fear. Maybe if I had a soul, I could make the room in Pete’s dream empty, I could guide him out and shut the door behind us both, forever.  _

 

_ Oh, it’s not that I’m afraid to love him. I’m not afraid of holding him through panic attacks or making sure he takes his medication. I’m not afraid of the demons in his mind...I’m afraid of myself. I’m afraid I’m not enough.  _

 

_ Pete is a creature of emotion, of passions, of pain and brilliance all rolled up into an electric ball of beauty and fragility. He wears his heart on his sleeve, knowing full well that it is vulnerable and ripe for injury there, and he doesn’t care. He smiles and he laughs even when I know his heart is more inclined to tears, and there’s a strange strength in that, that he knows he is broken and yet he still hands out the pieces like they aren’t precious.  _

 

_ I want to take care of him. I want to be the one who soothes away his fears, who protects that fragile, beautiful heart and shields it from the wounds of this world and of his own demons. I want to tell him he’s perfect when he feels like there’s nothing good left in the world, I want to tell him he’s more than enough when he feels empty. I want him to know that I’ll be there no matter what, that I’ll always be his shelter in the storm, whether it’s a storm in his mind or in the world around us. That he’s safe, that I won’t hurt him or make him feel anything less than what he is--perfect.  _

 

_ But maybe I’m not enough. I don’t know what a soul would give me in this, because I’ve never had one. I don’t know if it would make me what he needs, if it would help me find the words that would soothe his bruised courage. I don’t know if it would make my arms somehow safer, my touch more powerful. But what if it’s what’s missing? What if he wastes the precious love in his heart on someone who will never be able to give him that, to make him feel like he is protected and buttressed. What if there’s someone out there who could tell him the things he needs, who would know when to reach out and touch him and when to simply offer the solace of their presence? What if I’m just a pale imitation of what he needs? _

 

****


	16. Chapter 16

He could feel it, practically  _ vibrating _ through him. The shared camaraderie of conspirators, the bright knife edge of skirting the truth and the thrill of the impending reveal. 

 

_ God _ he loved surprise parties. 

 

_ <<almst 2 haus, still on track w/ sched?>> _

 

Andy responded with a simple  _ yes _ and Pete giggled manically as he pulled off the highway. Humming under his breath, he parked the car and jumped out, yelling as he opened the back door. “Trohman! Get your ass out here and help me with these!!”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Joe tripped down the front steps and grabbed one of the boxes. “You ready to learn from the master?” 

 

“I’ll have you know my party-making skills are the stuff of legend, mop-head.” Pete fired back, and Joe laughed as they went into the house with their arms overflowing with decorations. 

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

~//~

 

“Hey!!” Joe held his hands out and everyone looked up. “They’re pulling in,  _ places!”  _ With that, everyone scattered, crouching behind various pieces of furniture as Joe turned out the lights and the room fell silent. The front door opened and Patrick’s voice floated in.

 

“--still can’t believe that they wanted  _ twelve _ bucks for…” His voice trailed off and Pete felt his heart start to pound in his chest.  _ This is it! _ he thought as Patrick walked into the living room and he desperately told himself to  _ not _ start jumping up and down like a five year old. “That’s weird, why are the lights--”

 

“ _ SURPRISE!!!”  _

 

Everyone jumped out as Joe blew flames over their heads in a riotous plume as Andy turned the lights on, illuminating Patrick’s terrified face, his hands held in front of him defensively, frost rising from them in lazy wisps

 

“Please don’t spear us through the heart with icicles.” Pete laughed as he scampered out from his place behind the TV. “Happy birthday, hot stuff!” Pulling him close, he pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek, his mouth still hanging open in a shocked “O.” Slowly, Patrick’s eyes stopped flitting among the gathered faces at a frantic pace and his lips closed, turning up into a disbelieving smile. 

“--You? You did all this?” He looked at the streamers that crisscrossed the ceiling, balloons floating in bunches and a “Happy Birthday!” sign strung over the back door. 

 

Pete grinned. “Well, Joe and I. And Andy of course--he had to keep you away.” 

 

“I--” Patrick was cut off by a tall, willowy girl with red hair who wrapped her arms around him and started singing happy birthday in an off-key rendition so bad Pete couldn’t help but be impressed. 

 

“Happy birthday dear Patrick, Happy birthday to you!” She giggled and he smiled up at her widely. 

 

“Thanks, Melissa.” He reached out and took Pete’s hand. “Have you met my boyfriend?”

  
“Oh yes!” She reached a hand out to squeeze Pete’s bicep. “He’s a regular charmer, Rick, you better hold on to him!” With that pronouncement, she flitted off to answer Joe’s yowled call of  _ Come get your juice, kids!  _ And Patrick said a smiling goodbye. 

 

Unable to hold back his excitement, Pete leaned close. “ _ And _ we got about fifteen gallons of Certified Sagani Absinthe...so you have  _ literally _ no excuse not to get wasted tonight, birthday boy!” He laughed at the look on Patrick’s face. “And I cannot  _ wait.”  _

 

“Oh  _ God _ .”

 

~//~

 

It turned out, drunk Patrick was pretty damn awesome. He was all smiles and laughter, flitting from friend to friend telling stories and dropping witty comebacks like he was a stand-up comedian. Pete hadn’t been sure at first, when Joe told him there was some sort of mandatory gathering for the Midwestern Sagani and proposed they have a surprise birthday party for Patrick beforehand how it would go. He knew that Patrick hadn’t exactly  _ fit in _ and he didn’t want it to turn into an awkward facsimile of a high school reunion where you hide from the bullies because you don’t want to chance that they didn’t grow out of it. But Joe had reassured him that they had only invited the Sagani that were understanding to their decision to strike out and form their Island of Misfits, ones who they had made friends with over their years of being outside the Sagani community and shared similar mindsets. He had asked Andy a week ago if they would mind him being there, if he would make it weird as the only person who couldn’t summon fire or grow endless supplies of strawberries...but Andy had smiled and shook his head gently.  _ If Patrick loves you, they’ll love you, and you really think I would hang out with a bunch of bigots? _ With that, Pete’s mind had been set at ease and he had been free to unleash his love of glitter and ridiculous decorations in full force. 

 

Grinning at Patrick hollering wildly-creative insults at a dark-skinned Agrossi as they played Absinthe-Pong, he went over and perched next to Andy. “Having fun?” 

 

“Tons.” Flexing his fingers, Andy laced them behind his head. “What do you think of drunk Patrick?” 

 

“I  _ love _ it.” Pete laughed as he took a sip of his vodka cranberry--they had thoughtfully bought ‘normal’ alcohol for him to drink so he didn’t end up chasing green fairies through the backyard. “Reminds me of that day we were having the tornadoes and he was just chilling on the front porch. That was probably the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him outside of tonight.” 

 

“He’s done that for years.” Andy said, leaning close so Pete could hear him over the Michael Jackson blaring over the stereo. “He’s the reason why a tornado hasn’t touched down inside urban Chicago in the last fifteen years, you know.” Pete’s eyebrows rose, and Andy nodded conspiratorially. “Yep. I’ve never seen him actually enjoy it though....he’s always done it because he couldn’t stand the idea of anyone getting hurt if he didn’t, but it’s different when he’s with you.” He gave Pete a smile that made him feel like he was doing something right. “I told you--you’re good for him.” 

 

Pete felt his heart warm at that, and he couldn’t help a smile that he was sure was completely  _ cheesy _ from spreading across his face. “I’m going to blame this on the copious amounts of vodka I’ve drunk if you ever bring it up, but I’m so fucking glad that I disagreed with him about  _ The Offspring _ .” They toasted to  _ best friends, boyfriends, and The Offspring _ and Pete felt his chest constrict as it washed over him how fucking awesome life could be. “Brb, gotta go kiss me a Patrick and grab the cake.” He winked and jumped up, searching the room for his boyfriend but coming up short.  _ Maybe he’s in the kitchen. _

 

Turning the corner, he was about to walk in when he heard a familiar name and something made him freeze right outside the door frame. 

 

“Seriously, you just get hotter with time, Patrick.” He stiffened, heart dropping as he berated himself that this was what he got for being a stalker. But he calmed his suddenly-pounding heart when he heard Patrick start to answer. 

 

“You’re clearly drunk, Cindy.” He heard a hiccup and a giggle. “What have you been up to lately? Are you still down in Omaha?” 

 

“Actually, I just moved back up here to the city. I got tired of not being able to see the lake when I opened my window.” He thought back to who this  _ Cindy _ was--he was pretty sure she was the petite blonde girl who had literally  _ jumped _ into Patrick’s arms when she wished him a happy birthday. 

 

“Oh that’s awesome!” Patrick sounded as kindly earnest as ever, and Pete felt his heart clench. “We should all have a barbeque or something sometime!” 

 

“That’d be fun.” She replied and Pete questioned if he really wanted to eat half-burnt meat with this girl--she told him that she thought Star Wars was just an over-hyped Space Soap Opera, so he was seriously doubting her character. His ears perked up when he heard her voice drop an octave. “ _ Or... _ we could go grab some dinner. I mean, I’m sure you have girls lining up to go on a date with you, but I--”

 

“Uh, Cindy, wait.” He cleared his throat and even in his inebriated state, Pete could  _ hear _ the stilted politeness leeching into Patrick’s tone. The same one he used when the old lady had called them disgusting sinners at the supermarket and he had politely told her that they were allowed to shop for groceries together, and when she had called them  _ degenerate faggots _ Patrick had just as politely told her to go fuck herself. Pete held his breath to see what Patrick would say--his mind whispering that  _ Cindy _ probably didn’t wake up screaming from night terrors or have to take antipsychotics every morning, but then Patrick was speaking again. “You’re definitely way off about my line of suitors, but I’m actually  _ super _ taken. Pete, you met him earlier? He’s my boyfriend and I  _ really _ love him.” 

 

“Oh--yeah! He’s great!” Pete couldn’t tell if her enthusiasm was put-on or not, but his heart swelled at Patrick’s declaration. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.” He heard something that sounded like a grunt from Patrick and decided he had his fill of super-sleuthing for the night. Backing up a few steps, he laughed at an imaginary joke and breezed into the kitchen.

“Dude, that’s hysterical, I--oh hey babe! And Cindy, right?” He took in the slight upturn of disgust on Patrick’s lips and nose, and the bright red lipstick on his cheek. She didn’t even have the grace to blush, but he didn’t care. He swept right up to Patrick and slipped an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek and then--because he was an asshole and he knew it--another to the creamy line of his neck. “Andy told me to come get the cake ‘cause it’s time for birthday wishes!” Patrick gave him a wide, slightly bashful smile that made his heart melt even more than it already was. Cindy said something inconsequential and walked out of the kitchen in a movement that made him suddenly understand what it meant when someone  _ flounced _ . Shaking his head, he turned back to Patrick, who was blushing bright red. 

 

“I swear Pete, she--” He started, but Pete just shook his head smiling. 

 

“I know. I heard.” 

 

Patrick crooked a quizzical eyebrow, the alcohol in his system making it come out somewhat lopsided and even more adorable than usual. “Oh? Were you being a creeper?” 

 

“Just a bit.” Pete grinned without remorse. “I didn’t mean to, but then she started coming on to you…” He turned, pressing Patrick’s back against the counter and notching their hips together. “And I’m  _ really _ glad you’re super taken.” He wiped her lipstick off his cheek with his thumb and leaned forward so their foreheads were touching, reveling in the way Patrick felt warm and solid and  _ perfect _ against him and smiled softly. “Because I  _ really _ love you too. So much.” 

 

“Pete--” Wrapping his arms around his waist, Patrick tilted his face up and pressed their lips together, sighing into it as he relaxed against him. Gently Pete licked at his lips, gasping when they parted and he could plumb into the delicious warmth that was _Patrick’s mouth_ _a.k.a. Wonderland._ Standing outside the door, he had wanted to press a hard, possessive kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, but now he just felt full of the feelings of _safe_ and _home._ He was overwhelmed with gratitude that Patrick loved him, that somehow he had gotten lucky enough this amazing creature was loyal to a screw-up like him. When he finally pulled away, Patrick looked up at him with a slightly-dopey smile that filled all the cracks in his soul. 

 

“Love you  _ so _ much.” He breathed and laid his head on Pete’s chest and for a long moment, it was just them and it was just  _ perfect. _

 

“ _ Pete! Q _ uit making babies and get the cake!” Andy’s voice rang out from the living room and Patrick stirred, looking at him with a mischievous glint in his eye.

 

“We’re being summoned, but I expect to be well-fucked later. I  _ am _ the drunk birthday boy, after all.” 

 

Pete wiggled his hips suggestively before pulling away and grabbing the cake from the fridge. “Anything for you, Pattycakes.” 

 

~//~

  
  


_ “ _ Why did we think that was a good idea?” Joe moaned as he plunked himself down at the table the next morning, dropping his head into his crossed arms and groaning. Patrick didn’t say anything, merely scooted a bottle of gatorade towards Joe, squinting morosely at his cinnamon toast crunch as he took slow bites between sips of steaming coffee.

 

“Cause it was Patrick’s birthday?” Pete replied, standing from where he had been digging in the fridge with a pizza box from his hands. He grabbed a few of the many empty bottles and threw them into the garbage can with a loud clatter. 

 

“Oh my God, Pete, _no_ _loud noises.”_ Patrick gave him a look that could have been a glare if it wasn’t for the total lack of effort and he set the pizza box down gently on the newly-cleared surface. 

 

“My bad.” Lowering himself into the chair, he opened the box and started chewing on a cold piece of pizza, making rapturous noises. “Nothing better for a hangover.” 

 

“That’s definitely not true.” They all looked up as Andy came in the back door and kicked it closed to an outraged chorus of  _ too loud! _ and  _ too bright!  _ from Patrick and Joe. Pete merely continued chewing as Andy took his sunglasses off and grinned at them. “The best thing for a hangover is  _ not getting hungover.”  _ He held up his styrofoam cup, “Unless you guys want some of this—freshly juiced from the place around the corner.”

 

“What is it?” Pete asked, and then saw Patrick shake his head slightly, like he shouldn’t have asked. 

 

“Kale, beets, celery, spinach and rutabaga, with a bit of garlic and wheatgrass.” 

 

“Yeah, hard pass, thanks.” Pete took another bite and held up his pizza slice. “This is all the cure I need. You went out just for juice?” 

 

“Nope.” Andy sat down, frowning at the remaining bottles. “Went for a run, did a workout down at the gym. I feel great.” 

 

“Please shut the fuck up.” Patrick grumbled around a mouthful, shooting Andy another half-baked glare. “It’s too early for words like  _ wheatgrass.”  _

 

Andy smirked, snapping his fingers, and all their food turned into leafy piles of kale.

 

“What the hell!” Joe threw up his hands, and Patrick merely laid his head down on the green stalks, mumbling something about  _ prissy elementals who think they’re sooooo special _ . Pete looked at what had been a piece of deliciously cold sausage and pepperoni pizza a second ago, and decided taking a bite of the large leaf of kale now held in his hand to see if it had any pizza flavor was definitely not worth it. 

 

Setting the kale down in the now-overflowing pizza box, Pete fixed Andy with a look. “I swear to God, Andy, if you don’t give me my pizza back right now I will lay Patrick down on your little magical Kale Patch and do obscene things to him that he’ll  _ loudly _ enjoy.” 

 

Quirking an eyebrow, Andy smiled. “No you won’t, ‘cause Patrick would melt of embarrassment. He’s already halfway there.” Pete looked over at his boyfriend and noted the blush spreading down his neck from where it peeked out from the kale and grinned. He started to stand up, and his boyfriend’s head shot up with surprising speed, hands darting out in a motion like a referee in a ring, holding two boxers apart.

 

“Hang on, assholees.  _ Patrick _ would like to  _ not _ be molested before finishing his coffee, and  _ Patrick _ would very much like to finish his first bowl of cereal as a twenty-nine year old, and  _ Patrick  _ will turn someone’s very expensive veggie smoothie into seawater if  _ Patrick _ doesn’t get all of the above  _ right the fuck now.”  _ He fixed Andy with a look. “And didn’t we agree no magic at the table?? That’s how we ended up with a giant fishbowl full of Chinese Fighting Fish.” 

 

With an overly-affected sigh, Andy snapped his fingers and the food became pizza and gatorade and cereal again, all the leafy dark kale vanished. 

 

Pete crowed happily and took a bite, and Patrick just shook his head. 

 

“I swear I don’t get how you can do that and my cereal not get soggy.” 

 

Laughing a small, quiet huff, Andy grinned. “Magic, duh.”


	17. Chapter 17

Something was just  _ off _ . He didn’t know what had caused it, he couldn’t even explain what it was about much less when it was going to go away...but it was there, wiggling at the base of his skull and tugging on his nerves. He hoped that Patrick hadn’t noticed, that he could just  _ keep it the fuck together _ for tonight. Lord knows what would happen if something as stupid as his frazzled, sparking brain interrupted the thing his boyfriend had been talking about for literal weeks. The dark walls seemed to be getting closer, so he just took a deep breath and pressed his mouth to Patrick’s ear so he could hear over the pre-set buzzing. 

 

“I’m gonna grab some water.” He caught the flash of movement as Patrick nodded his head and he was off towards the bar, leaning on it when he got there like maybe it would ground him. The bartender seemed to be very far away when he asked for ice water, but the cup was cool and solid as it was pushed into his shaking hand. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate the way the chilled liquid slid down his throat, feel every centimeter it traveled to remind himself he still had a heart, and lungs, and a brain. He was  _ real _ . 

 

Slowly the nausea subsided and he felt like his head was shrinking back around his skull, like he was becoming the right size again, his bones fitting a bit better in his skin. He took a deep breath and shook his head. He could do this-- _ he could _ . 

 

The DJ came to the stage and made a mercifully brief introduction before the lights lowered further. Pushing away from the bar, he abandoned his water cup and waded back into the crowd, the press of bodies making him want to scream even as he smiled apologies. A dark-skinned kid with white makeup smudged on his cheeks that made them glow in the blacklight like a film negative jostled him, a girl with fishnets and a metallica shirt glared, the skull seeming to leer at him from where it was pulled tightly across her chest. The beat began, slow and orchestral and he took a shuddering breath, trying to convince himself it would be alright, the night was going to go fine and all he had to do was make it back to Patrick--to warm, pale flesh and a flicker of eyelashes as he looked over at him with a smile on his lips that made him feel safe. 

 

But then the beat dropped with ferocious intensity, the melody intertwined with a pulsing, pounding rhythm that skittered across his skin. The lights flickered off only for strobe lights to explode to life, bathing the room in flashes of movement, snatches of reality that only seemed to make his own feel more fragmented. He tried to take a breath but the air in the club suddenly seemed to press into him, compressing his lungs from the outside as he fought back, fighting for a shaky breath as he scanned the crowd desperately for Patrick, for a second’s illumination to point him out.

 

Suddenly the scene kid’s glare seemed a little too deep as he jostled her accidentally, a little too dark. The way her leather collar was starkly laid out against the pale milky skin of her neck, the studs and spikes seemed to reach out for him, angry and blood-tipped. The beat--exuberant and boisterous just a moment before--was suddenly syncing up with his heartbeat, pounding out to the tempo of the blood in his ears. Or was it the reverse? Was his heart speeding up to meet the beat, twisting faster and faster in a death spiral, the motion spinning him towards terminal velocity like a plane tumbling from the sky-- 

 

With a cry he knew nobody would hear he sunk to the floor, crouching down flat on the soles of his shoes with his face pressed to his knees, arms bracketing his head like he was bracing for impact. He was  _ dying _ , his heart was going to explode even as his lungs were crushed flat from the outside, it was just too loud, the beat filling his ears and ratcheting his heart up, up, up…

 

“ _ Pete _ !” From far away, he heard Patrick’s voice through the throbbing, hacking mayhem that was swirling out of him and he thought that  _ someone _ was looking out for him, that his boyfriend’s voice was the last thing he would hear before the roar in his ears drowned everything out forever. Hands were suddenly wrapped around him, pulling him towards what he distantly remembered was  _ up _ , and a blast of cold air blew over the skin of his arms like someone had opened a door in the dead of winter, letting in snow and cutting ice...

 

Then the beat was gone, fading away and all he could hear was his own panicked breathing, feel it whistling hotly through his nose as he sucked in great lungfuls of air, fast, too fast but he couldn’t help it--he was  _ drowning _ in the air--

 

“Baby, it’s a panic attack. Nothing’s wrong, you’re safe, you’re okay.” He didn’t remember closing his eyes but he must have because it was  _ dark _ but he could hear him, he could hear the words but they were so far away, garbled through the pounding roar of his pulse. His heart, his heart was  _ exploding _ \--

 

“No, you’re heart’s not exploding, Pete. Your heart’s okay, it just needs to calm down a bit. Here, hey--” Gentle pressure enveloped his shaking hands--”Can you squeeze for me? Breathe in and squeeze.” He found he could do that, he could squeeze Patrick’s hands and take a deep breath in, oxygen filling his lungs with the scent of rain and alley and the distant tang of a trash bin. “And relax, let go as you breathe out baby, you can do it, you’re doing so good.” He took another breath and squeezed, releasing as he breathed out, and again...the world swam back into focus as he opened his eyes to see Patrick backlit by a streetlight, relief on his face as he smiled through stark concern. “Hey there. You’re okay, you’re alright.” He opened his mouth and nothing came out, his heart still pounding a breakneck tattoo in his ears as his throat worked. Patrick let go of one of his hands and reached up to cup his cheek, wrapping his fingers protectively around the back of his neck. “Pete, babe, I want you to think of three things that are orange for me, can you do that?” 

 

His mind flickered, connections stuttering as they glitched, rerouted, synced up, synapses firing back to life.  _ Orange, orange, orange... _ his shuddering brain cast around for something orange and he suddenly remembered--

 

“That guitar pick...I played with it that night in your room after  _ Risk _ .” He shook his head, like that would clear it of the fog and the fear. “And....my old converse I had when I was in high school…” He cast around the alleyway, lighting on a traffic cone in the distance, his eyes snapping to it as his mind sighed  _ orange _ and it was like everything came back into focus...the static died out and his heart took a moment between beats. “And that cone. It’s orange.” His eyes came back to meet Patrick’s with the bizarre desire to know if he was  _ right _ , if he had done  _ well _ even though he knew with the part of his mind that was rapidly pushing through the fog that he  _ was right _ .

 

“Yes, Pete, that’s so good.” He looked down at the praise, pulling in a shaky breath and made a noise that wanted to be a laugh. 

 

“Your shirt. Your shirt’s orange, too.” Snapping back into place like laser-cut cogs, his mind righted itself, settling back into its moorings. He took a deep breath, the night air finally feeling cool against the back of his throat and he slumped into Patrick’s arms, caught and held tightly like he was held up by guidelines. He could feel Patrick’s heart pounding a tempo with his, but strangely the frantic beat didn’t set him off again, didn’t make him feel anything but safe...so he just pressed his ear closer for a few stolen moments and listened, felt as it slowed and tried to sync his breaths to it. Patrick’s hands were rubbing soft patterns against his back, and he felt the guilt flow over him as he realized what had happened--wondered how long they’d been outside, realized that he was  _ missing  _ the show he’d been so excited for, and it was all his fault. “...’M sorry.” He whispered, praying Patrick wouldn’t hear and would push him away angrily when he realized he had given up hearing the hottest new underground DJ for a loser like him...

 

“Babe, it’s fine, don’t even worry.” He was disentangled from his stranglehold on Patrick’s body and held back, like a kid when they fall down and their mother asks  _ is anything broken _ . He wanted to cry that  _ he _ was broken, he was useless, he was worthless...But instead all he saw was love and compassion in Patrick’s eyes, a concerned smile so real and genuine that it made him feel like  _ maybe _ this wasn’t how his life ended. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like shit.” His voice sounded garbled and rusty to his own ears and he could taste blood in his mouth from where he’d probably bitten something tender. Patrick’s hand was cool as it smoothed over his forehead, his cheek. An errant thought struck him, and he decided he was too tired to care why. “Where--where did you learn to do that? The hands, and the orange things?” 

 

A bashful cast worked its way across Patrick’s face and he looked down for a moment. “I--after that morning on the porch? I felt so stupid and useless, I wanted to know how to take care of you if it ever happened again.” He rubbed the back of his own neck nervously. “The websites had like a million different ideas, so I just...I guess that’s what I thought of in the minute. I’m sorry if it was stupid, I just--”

 

“--No!” Pete shook his head, taking Patrick’s hands again just in case, just to reassure himself it was all okay. “It was--you did amazing.” He glanced back towards the door. “I’m sorry, you’re missing it. Go back in, I’ll just hang out here or like--”

 

“Not on your life.” Patrick stood, hauling him to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go home.” 

 

“But, you--”

 

“ _ Pete _ .” His voice held just the barest edge of steel, but it was enough that he felt himself curling inwards in contrition. Patrick must have seen it and looked stricken, guilty and shocked all at once. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that...I just, the show isn’t important, okay? You are, I promise.” 

 

He didn’t know what to say to that as Patrick bundled him into the El, helping him swipe his card when his shaking hands kept missing the magnetic strip reader. He just curled into him on the hard plastic bench and listened to the way the train  _ clack-clacked _ along, steady and dependable and counted his breaths. He tried weakly to protest again when they got off at the stop for his apartment, but Patrick just shook his head and wrapped an arm around his waist as they walked, letting him feel his solidity as they walked the block to his apartment, climbing the stairs slowly. Pete handed over his key ring and let Patrick open the lock, not trusting himself to fit the key correctly. Ten minutes later, he was out of his clothes that were now stiff with sweat and into bed, curled into Patrick’s t-shirt and boxer-clad warmth, pressing his face to his chest and heaving a breath. 

 

“I’m sorry, ‘Trick.” He mumbled again, feeling like he  _ had _ to apologize, he had ruined  _ everything.  _

 

“You didn’t ruin everything.” Patrick answered, and he realized he must have said that aloud. “I--was it the music? I didn’t know it would affect you like that.”

 

He shrugged. “It doesn’t always. I was just...I don’t know how to explain it. I just was feeling off when we got there and when the strobe lights came on and something about the beat just…” He trailed off, unable to explain it. “I’m sorry.” 

 

Lips pressed themselves to his forehead, and it didn’t feel stupid, it didn’t feel mothering...but then they pressed soft caresses to his cheeks before lighting tender and warm on his lips and he sighed, wondering for the thousandth time what he’d done to get so lucky. 

 

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Patrick pulled him to his chest and rubbed his back soothingly. “Can you--can you sleep? Is there anything I can do for you?” He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it quickly, chastising himself for even thinking of asking for something so stupid. Patrick must have felt it though, and shook him gently. “No, c’mon, what? Whatever it is, I’ll do it if I can.” 

 

“Could…” He could feel his cheeks flushing and thanked his lucky underwear that the room was dark and his face was pressed to Patrick’s chest. “Could you make it rain? It--it always makes me feel better, listening to it. I mean, you don’t have to, I know that’s super stupid you can’t just--” He stopped as he heard the soft pitter-patter against the apartment roof, the gentle spray of it against his window. 

 

“Like that?” Patrick’s voice was low and he could hear the smile in it, he could feel it in the way his hands were soft in his hair. 

 

“Thank you.” He breathed, feeling the muscles in his shoulders loosen, the tension in his gut fading away. Patrick shifted a bit, pulling him over so he was resting with his cheek on his chest, pulled in tight and safe. 

 

Softly, Patrick began to sing something that sounded a little like Bing Crosby, a little like David Bowie, and a lot like love. The words wrapped around him like a safety net, like bandages against a wound as he felt the way it vibrated through his chest, fluttering in his windpipe. A gentle hand twined with his own, and Pete fell asleep with rain pattering down on the roof and the blues holding him like a cradle. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this world, Star Wars movies come out in April. Because I say so :P

Shivering in his coat, Patrick pulled the collar up tighter around his neck and shot his boyfriend of nearly five months a glare. His boyfriend who was currently  _ vibrating _ and practically jumping up and down in the line like a five year old. 

 

“ _ No way _ .” Pete shook his head adamantly. “There’s no way he’s not going to be in the movie, he’s  _ Luke Fucking Skywalker _ . He basically  _ is _ Star Wars!!!” 

 

The huge, Viking-esque lumberjack behind them shook his head, arm wrapped casually around his goth girlfriend who was offhandedly examining her nail polish. Her thick hair was dyed an electric shade of red with blunt, thick bangs accentuating a heart-shaped face, and Patrick wondered privately if he and Pete were such an incongruous couple. “Nah dude, think about it. It’d be the greatest twist of all time--plus he’s not even on the poster!” 

 

“Pshh.” Scoffing with a wave of his hand, Pete grinned. “They just ran out of room! I mean, look at how little Han and Leia are...it’s a stylistic choice, not a plot twist!” He looked over at Andy, who merely cocked a red eyebrow behind his sunglasses and shrugged. “Come on, man. Back me up.” 

 

“We’ll know in an hour.” Sage wisdom delivered, Andy grinned. “But I still think the cross-bladed lightsaber was an idiotic idea. Like seriously--it’s a  _ lightsaber. _ Unless the hilt is made of cortosis ore, it’s gonna shear right off.” 

 

“Huh, good point, but cortosis is totally shit for anything else, so I don’t know if it could even stand up to the strain.” Lumberjack Dude shrugged and looked at Patrick, Joe and Marie. “What, no opinions?” 

 

Pointing to Andy, Joe rolled his whole body like a wave of disinterest. “I just agree with whatever he says, it’s kinda my life plan.” Marie laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek, which made the gathered friends make various noises ranging from faux-vomiting to cooing noises. Pete nudged him with a look of glee. 

 

“Your Trekkie is showing, Trohman. Better start showing the proper amount of nerd otherwise I’m gonna take away your status as the world’s only Dual Space Nerd.” 

 

“Wait, you’re a  _ Trekkie _ ??” Redheaded Goth Girlfriend perked up, straightening under Lumberjack’s arm. “No way. Next Generation or--?” 

 

Joe laughed and started to answer, Marie staring at him with adoring eyes as he flailed his hands defending the brilliance of William Shatner,  and the Lumberjack laughed before looking at Patrick, who held up his hands in a gesture of innocence when he asked, “What about you? Skywalker or No?”

 

“I just want to see the X-wings...my nerd level is nowhere close to all this.” He rolled his eyes at Pete’s look of shocked hurt. “Don’t give me that.” 

 

His reply was cut off by the line starting to move, and Andy clapping his hands like a manic child. “Here we go!!!” 

 

Together they surged forward, Pete’s hand laced firmly with Patrick’s. 

 

~//~

 

“I told you that you’d get sick.” Handing him a tissue, Pete waited until he finished blowing his nose loudly and then started to unwind the blankets. “Here, drink this.” 

 

Glaring, Patrick took the offered mug and let the steam waft up over his reddened nose. “I’m pretty sure what you said was more along the lines of  _ oh my God I’m dying save me ‘cause I’m a huge wimp.” _ He took a sip and sighed in contentment. “Fuck that feels good.” 

 

“Yeah, chicken noodle soup’s guaranteed to get you better. It’s pretty much scientific fact.” Pete pulled his phone from his pocket at the buzz and swiped across the screen. “Joe says I can’t return you until you’re not infested with, and I quote,  _ The Cootie Plague _ anymore.” 

 

Making a noncommittal noise, Patrick sniffed as he drank the soup, before holding it out and coughing in great wheezes. “Well, will you tell him to at least bring me my inhaler and some clean T-shirts and underwear? It’s been four fucking days and your underwear chafe like a bitch.” 

 

“You could always--”

 

“ _ NO.”  _ Patrick glared, swallowing the last of it and setting the cup on the nightstand. “I am  _ not _ going fucking commando, God knows that’d be  _ more _ incentive for you to try to fucking molest me.” 

 

Pete rolled his eyes and crawled up the bed, pulling Patrick to rest on his chest, a phlegmy, feverish ball of angst and sniffles. “ _ Molest _ is such a strong word. I was just trying to take your mind off it,  _ distraction _ is probably more accurate.” He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV before checking his phone again. “Joe says once he finds the Hazmat suit he’ll be over. And he says he appreciates us keeping The Black Death to ourselves.”  Taking another kleenex from the box, Patrick blew his nose as Pete flipped through the channels, before setting down the remote with a whoop.  “ _ Miss Congeniality!  _ I love this movie.” 

 

“Why am I not surprised.” Patrick groused but snuggled closer, his head swimming with the disorientating inertia of an inflamed inner ear as he pressed his cheek to Pete’s unsurprisingly-bare chest. It had been four days since he had brought Pete over a Walmart haul of Gatorade, Nyquil, kleenex-- _ with Vitamin E lotion _ , Pete had been very specific--and cough drops. When he had opened the door, he had looked so pathetic Patrick hadn’t been able to just drop everything and run like Pete had warned and had come in, tucking him into bed and letting him curl up around him, shivering with fever-chills until the medication took hold and he slipped into a deep slumber. One thing had led to another, at some point they had taken a shower with soapy caresses and sex that had to pause every minute for Pete to hack up a lung...but the next morning Patrick had woken with a stuffy nose and a distinctly hoarse voice. 

 

But being sick with his boyfriend wasn’t  _ the worst _ thing, he decided as he drifted to sleep with Pete parroting Sandra Bullock’s lines back at her and his cool hands feathering through his sweaty hair. 

 

~//~

 

“Use protection!” Joe’s laughing admonishment was cut off as Patrick slammed the front door behind him with a glare, cheeks flushed the most perfect shade of pink.  He looked at Pete, whose mouth was slightly ajar as he took him in, before they flushed even darker. 

 

“You could say something, asshole.” He fiddled with the cuff links on his dress shirt, hoping they weren’t too much, because he knew without a shadow of a doubt he’d never look as good as Pete. His boyfriend. Who was wearing the skinniest dress slacks he’d ever seen, a hot pink tie loosely tied over a black dress shirt and topped off with a vest, and looked  _ disgustingly _ hot. 

 

“Umm…” Pete bit his lip and gave him a smile that  _ did things _ to his stomach. “I mean, what I  _ want _ to say is something crazy smooth and romantic about how amazing you look.” Stepping forward, he slid his hands under Patrick’s blazer, tracing the top of his meticulously-ironed dress pants as he pulled him close. “But all I can think of is that I might have to cancel our dinner reservation ‘cause you look  _ too damn hot _ to be seen by the general populace. There’d be riots.” He murmured  _ riots _ in a way that made something electric sizzle up Patrick’s spine for some ungodly reason as he pressed their mouths together in a deep, searching kiss. The coil of nerves loosened in his belly as Pete’s body molded to his perfectly and he couldn’t help the small moan that fell from his lips. 

 

“The porch is on the list of places you can’t fuck, dickwads.” Andy’s voice rang out through the dining room window. “Go be disgusting somewhere else before you scare away my book club.” 

 

Pulling away, Pete laughed. “You mean you’re afraid they’re gonna want a show rather than discussing Kierkegaard all night.” Taking Patrick’s hand, he pulled him from the porch and towards his car, whispering in his ear  _ but no seriously--riots, _ to which Patrick just rolled his eyes and blushed. 

 

He didn’t stave off the flow of complements on the whole drive to the swanky new fusion restaurant that they’d both been wanting to try since it opened. He whistled under his breath as he opened the door, ending in a stupid braying laugh at the way Patrick glared back at him. Dinner was an opulent affair of dishes that half the time they couldn’t be sure of what was in them, but Patrick found it hard to focus on the food with the way Pete was staring at him, a secretive smile on his lips that made something flutter under his ribs. 

 

“What?” He finally asked between the bright-green dumplings and the plate of crispy duck with some sort of sweet and sour sauce. 

 

“What, what?” Pete grinned, licking his lips clean. 

 

“You’ve been...looking at me.” Patrick waved his hand, wishing he had a better way to explain it. “All night, like...a dingo. Looking at a baby elephant.” 

 

Laughter rang from Pete’s throat, bright and silvery. “I’m usually the one with the crazy analogies, but I like that you’re branching out.” He shrugged eloquently, looking down at his plate for a long moment before meeting Patrick’s eyes again. “I just...I can’t believe I got this lucky, you know? Like... _ look _ at you, and you’re like the coolest person on top of all that gorgeousness and…” He tapered off and sighed. “I think the most amazing thing about you is you’re  _ you _ .” 

 

“Not like I have much of a choice in that outside of schizophrenia or DID.” He quipped around the lump in his throat but Pete shook his head, gaze intent and focused. 

  
“No, I mean...you’re... _ authentic. _ You like what you like, you think what you think, and you’re the most honest person I know. Like, I never wonder where I stand with you or if you hate me or something, because I know you’d never hide things like that ‘cause you’re  _ real _ .” 

 

Momentarily flabbergasted, Patrick looked intently at his wine glass, his decision to not tell Pete about his soul--buried for months and unthought of--suddenly bubbled to the surface in a fit of doubt. He pushed it away-- _ it’s not fucking important. It doesn’t change ANYTHING.  _ Squaring his shoulders in determination and hoping Pete would mistake it for an attempt at etiquette, he held out his wine glass. “Here’s to the best six months of my life.” Pete’s eyes lit up as they clinked them together and never left their focus as he took a sip. 

 

“Perfect just like you.” 

 

“Except that I’m apparently wrong about Metallica.” Patrick smirked as he took another bite, waiting for the expected reply.

 

“ _ So wrong _ , but I’m choosing to overlook it…” 

 

~//~

 

“Fuck yeah, pizza!” Joe hurled himself into the threadbare armchair and reached for a slice, shoveling it in his mouth and grinning through the cheese threads coming from his mouth. Sitting back, he propped his feet up on the coffee table and chewed contemplatively, giving the room’s other two occupants a look. “Okay, so this is perfect timing because I seriously need fucking advice.” 

 

“Shoot.” Pete handed him a beer from the six-pack at his feet and grinned. “And let me know what you think--it’s that new IPA from Half Brother brewers downtown. Patrick predictably hates it.” 

 

“ _ Patrick _ doesn’t like beer that tastes like grass clippings.” Huffing as he took a drink of his lemonade, Patrick fixed his roommate with a look. “What’s up?” 

 

Chewing around another mouthful, Joe scrubbed at his face. “So...I kissed Marie last night.” 

 

“I SWEAR IF YOU UPSET HER--” Pete jumped to his feet, jostling his irked-faced boyfriend to tower over Joe, who was holding his hands and beer out like a shield, curly hair billowing around his face. 

 

“No, dude nothing like that! I swear, I--” Joe babbled, eyes wide. “I took her out to that Thai place she likes and then we went and saw that new Nicholas Sparks flick...she cried like a baby at the end and I had brought tissues and  _ everything _ .” Pete continued to glare down at him, knuckles white around the neck of his beer bottle. “I took her home and like, walked her to the door and everything...her nose was like all red but I swear her eyes are like the most fucking gorgeous things in the world and I just couldn’t help it! She had been  _ crying  _ and I just realized I never wanted to see her sad and…” He trailed off, looking to Patrick, who was just watching with a bored expression. Eyes flicking back up to Pete, he gave him a cheesy, tremulous grin. “Please don’t break all my bones?” 

 

Holding his posture for five more silent seconds, Pete glared...before breaking out in his chainsaw-laugh and plopping down again next to Patrick. “I totally already knew, Marie called and told me last night.” 

 

“ _ What the fuck asshole!”  _ Joe’s mouth hung agape in shock as he took in Pete cackling manically and Patrick’s bemused look. 

 

“It was too good an opportunity to pass up!” Pete brayed, before wiping his eyes and giving Joe a wide smile. “Plus I wanted to see what  _ you _ were gonna say about it.” 

 

“Well, what the fuck did she tell you?” Joe took a swig of his beer, still glaring sourly.

 

Pete shook his head. “Sorry dude. Hoes before bros in this case, but let’s hear your heartburn and I’ll try to give you a peek into the Mind of Marie.” 

 

“I was thinking about sending her flowers, but I’m not sure if roses are too much…”

 

~//~

 

The last vestiges of the golden sunset were filtering through the curtains and it seemed to Pete like everything was gilded in tones of honey and copper. The marble of Patrick’s skin seemed to glow in the light as his hands curled around Pete’s wrists, pinning them to the bed as he pressed kisses down his chest, tongue swirling around his right nipple in the most delightfully-maddening way. Fighting with no real desire to be free, Pete couldn’t help the whine that tumbled out of his mouth at the way he tightened his grip, grinding down on him mercilessly.

 

“Do I need to tie you up?” He murmured into the skin over Pete’s ribs, and seashore eyes flicked up to his. “Or could you be good and hold onto the headboard?” 

 

Pushing away the fire that skittered up his spine at the smoky promise, Pete shook his head as he slipped his arms from Patrick’s grip and took a firm hold of the headboard. The smile that bloomed across Patrick’s face made his heart flip-flop as he kissed downwards, interspersing biting nips with the caresses. He was positively  _ dying _ by the time he reached his now-tented boxers, pushing them down with firm, confident fingers. It wasn’t his fault--he couldn’t help the way his hips twitched up when Patrick’s breath ghosted over his achingly-hard cock, only for warm hands to press his hips down with a growled  _ stay still _ . Thunder rumbled in the distance and they both looked towards the window, the golden light rapidly turning to darkness. 

 

“If you cause a hurricane because you give the greatest head in the world and I can’t keep still…” He trailed off as Patrick rolled his eyes and smirked. 

 

“No hurricanes today.” Then he sucked him down with a total lack of fanfare and Pete couldn’t help the way he shouted, endlessly thankful that they had the house all to themselves. He gasped and groaned as a skillful tongue swirled delicately around the head, Patrick’s lips plush and perfect as he slid down at a maddeningly-slow rate, taking his time to suck and tease before working back up. “Hand me the lube.” He whispered before sinking back down again, a flash of mischief in his eyes as Pete scrabbled in the nightstand even as he was babbling out a string of  _ fuck fuck fuck your goddamn mouth _ . Narrowly missing Patrick’s head as he chucked the bottle downwards, Pete grabbed back onto the headboard and arched his back helplessly as slender, calloused fingers caressed the paper-thin skin of his balls. They vanished for a long moment before coming back slippery and cool to circle his hole. “Spread your legs more, good boy.” Patrick rasped as he pulled off to press a bite to just under his hipbone. 

 

Obeying, Pete looked down as gentle fingers started to stroke with increased pressure. Something bubbled up in his chest that made him want to poke a bit, to prod and tease even though he  _ knew _ with the part of his brain that desperately wanted to finish that he should keep his mouth shut. But he’d never been one to listen to the intelligent part of his brain in these situations. “You ever wonder why you’re so Toppy?” He gasped it out, knowing he still sounded desperate and needy and not caring a bit. Patrick merely hummed, not stopping his fingers from gently plumbing his body, not quite to his spot but maddeningly close. 

 

Pulling off to press a kiss to where his balls and his cock met, he murmured an amused reply. “Considering I’m such a shy, accommodating person otherwise, I’m sure I can’t imagine.” Patrick’s fingers hit the place that made him cry out, barely noticing when he slid a third one in and stretched him perfectly open, his mind going perfectly white for a split second. But then the pesky desire to prod was back as Patrick’s mouth enveloped him again, warmth and wetness that made him shudder as his fingers whitened around the headboard slats. 

 

“No, but, think about it. You’re making it thunder outside...maybe you’re such a toppy asshole cause you know you  _ can _ make  _ me _ do what you want.” He was shooting for smug or at least teasing, but couldn’t help that it came out a bit breathless. Skewering him with a glare, Patrick slid off him and pulled his fingers from his body. Babbling pleas for him to not start began to pile up in Pete’s brain, but he kept his mouth shut as Patrick pushed down his boxers and crushed their mouths together in a deep, biting kiss. He pulled away to grab the lube and slick himself up, the eyes flashing to Pete’s full of stormclouds and hunger. 

 

“I’m going to fuck you ‘till you cry, we’ll see where your theories are then.” He pushed inside, careful and slow despite his promises, pressing a deep, searching kiss to Pete’s mouth as he bottomed out, swallowing his tiny gasps and groans as he let him adjust. His body relaxed, releasing and asking for more, and Pete couldn’t help but sink his hands into cinnamon-colored hair, feathering his thumbs along Patrick’s cheekbones. 

 

A burst of lightning cracked outside the window and Patrick’s hands came up to grab his, pinning them to the bed above his head as he slipped the other down to pull Pete’s leg up around his waist as he started to thrust. “Told you--to keep--them up.” Unable to really feel genuinely  _ sorry _ because fuck he loved the way Patrick’s hands tightened around his wrists and the possessive gleam in his eyes, Pete just arched his back best he could and locked his ankles around Patrick’s waist. It was just  _ so good _ with Patrick, every fucking time--the way his skin slicked with sweat and his brow furrowed like Pete was an instrument he was trying to master. Plus it didn’t hurt that he was  _ hung _ , something that he took great pleasure in babbling to him in moments just like this. 

 

The hand not holding his arms snaked down, the hint of lube still left on it making the slide of his cock even more perfect between slender fingers that lit him on fire. Patrick--ever the musician--kept a perfect rhythm, plumbing him with breathtaking accuracy as his hand moved in steady time. 

 

“You’re--such a shit--but-- _ gasp _ \--I fucking love you--” Patrick panted into his neck, never faltering in his precise dismantling of every bit of self-control Pete possessed. He could feel it nearing, the perfect moment of blinding ecstasy crawling up his spine…and then he tumbled over, pulsing over Patrick’s hand in ropes of white and crying his name like it would catch him when he fell. 

 

Thrusting through it Patrick bit at his shoulder, gasping as he drove into him. Shuddering with every thrust, sensitive but lit on fire with each stroke Pete mewled as his body protested and clamored for the movement all at once. It was like each time Patrick thrust it locked his body into a new level of pleasure, ratcheting it up like a gear turning, turning its way higher. He opened his eyes just in time to see Patrick come with a shuddered groan, eyes closing tight and brow furrowing as his mouth dropped open like he was caught off guard by its intensity. 

 

Later, cleaned up and with his boxers and a t-shirt back on, Patrick was laying with Pete’s head pillowed on his chest. He was tracing delicate patterns on his hand, whorls along his palm and soft lines along his fingers, only to have Patrick lace their fingers together and clear his throat. 

 

“I’m not... _ too _ toppy, am I?” 

 

Looking up with a grin that he couldn’t help, Pete pressed a kiss to his jaw. “You’re perfect. Wouldn’t have you any other way.” 

  
  
  



	19. ~Interlude~

_ I’ve been stupid to worry so much about something that’s just an artifact of ancient times and even older traditions. Maybe the Sagani did descend from four guardian angels, or maybe we’re the last of the X-men...either way, who cares? I’m not going to sit on the floor and cry because I was born with blue eyes and some stupid legend says that brown-eyed Sagani are the strongest....Look at me, after all! So why should I worry about if I have a soul?  _

 

_ Because...I know I love Pete. I know it with every sinew of my heart, every breath that fills my lungs, every time he slips his hand into mine, I KNOW it. I’ve never felt this way before about someone, wanted to wrap my arms around them and never let go. It’s an indescribable feeling to know without a shadow of a doubt that I would throw myself in front of a bullet for him without hesitation, and to know with equal certainty he would do the same for me. He is in every way the missing piece to the puzzle of my soul, he’s the key that unlocks every bit of me, he’s the peanut butter to my jelly.  _

 

_And God, I mean, look at him. I know I groused when they all wanted to come to Foster Beach, because hello--the sun and I aren’t exactly friends and it’s_ MAY _._ _It’s still cold as fuck. But I’ll take this. I’ll take my umbrella and my sunscreen and coat and looking at Pete splashing around with Joe for some stupid internet challenge. He’s gorgeous, he’s perfect and he’s mine. But it’s more than just that--it’s the way he smiles at me when he pokes his head up over the surf. It’s the way he throws his head back to laugh when he splashes Andy. It’s the way he kissed my lips before he ran in screaming like a teenager. He is the most recklessly authentic person I’ve ever known--he doesn’t hide from what he feels, he doesn’t wrap it tightly and push it down in case it’s ugly or painful or terrifying. He looks at his own blackness just as openly as he looks at his own light. I wish I could be more like that, I wish I could accept who I am with the same tenacity. He is unabashedly, unashamedly HIMSELF…and I count myself as the luckiest in the world to get to see all of him. He’s like a museum--everything is on display but you have to spend time looking at each case, reading each placard, admiring each expression of human ingenuity. There is so much of him to experience, to get to see and I want more, I want to go deeper, I want to stand beside him every day and watch the riotous display that is Pete Wentz._

 

_ Not just him though...there’s this indescribable thing that I never thought was possible. It’s US. It’s PeteandPatrick. He makes me feel like I belong, like I’m not standing against a wall of homogeneity and facing it down alone. He makes me feel beautiful and precious, two words that I’d never ever use to describe myself, but when he looks at me...I feel it. I may not ever see it myself, but I can see it in his eyes, I can see the peace that settles over him when he presses into my arms and rests his head over my heart. I never thought that I’d be able to give that to someone, that my presence would complete them just as much as theirs completes me. He makes me feel strong, feel like I can live my life the way I want and he’ll cheerlead me every step of the way. It’s the most incredible thing to feel SEEN, but not only that, to be WANTED.  _

 

_ Oh he isn’t easy to love, by any means. Nothing about Pete is simple or straightforward, he is not a direct line from A to B, he is a twisting, tangled mass of brokenness and beauty, fragility and strength, a hyperbolic enigma within an paradox. He has good days and he has bad days, he cries when he wakes up from nightmares and he shrinks away from the razor-tipped fingers of the darkness that is pressed around the edges of his mind. He laughs when he is shattering into jagged pieces, begging for someone to see him and help him catch the shards that are streaming through his fingers even as he dances. He presents his heart over and over for consumption, never asking if it’s wise or safe, just offering his beauty and his individuality for your consideration. He’s a meteor hurtling through space, but he’ll gladly reach out his hand and shield you from the heat as you fly along with him on a journey unlike any other.  _

 

_ That intangible thing called a soul doesn’t make you fall in love. I know that Pete loves me, and I know I can love him. I know because I see it in his eyes when I sing to him and he pulls himself out of a panic attack to the sound of my voice. When we go to the movies and he lays his head against my shoulder and sighs in contentment when the star-crossed lovers finally kiss, I know we are meant to be together. When he pulls my laptop away and endures my glares and angry protestations to make me eat, before placing my headphones back on my head with a gentle kiss, I know what we have is real.  _

 

_ He’s all I want. I want to sit next to him and listen to him quote Indiana Jones, I want to see the way he makes faces at his book while he reads, I want to wake up to the press of his body against mine. I want to see the smile on his face blossom every time I walk into the room, and I want to steal sips of his ridiculously-sweet coffee every morning. I want to hold him when he’s heartbroken and laugh with his joys, I want to watch his eyes light up as music thrums through his body, I want to listen to his dreams and help him chase them.  _

 

_ Pete is all the soul I’ll ever need.  _


	20. Chapter 20

 

“Honey, I’m home!!!” Pete trilled out as he kicked the front door shut and pushed his shoes off, juggling the boxes of Himalayan takeout he had grabbed on the way over to surprise Patrick. “So I couldn’t remember what you liked so I got that green bean and tofu one and then I also got the lava chicken but if that’s not the one you like I’m _definitely_ _not_ eating it ‘cause I don’t want fire coming out my--” The words froze in his throat as he entered the kitchen and saw them seated at the table, the set of Patrick’s mouth telling him in no uncertain terms that _something is weird._

 

“Pete! Um, hey.” Patrick stood quickly and grabbed some of the white boxes from his arms, giving him a smile that Pete decided he did not like at all--it was all trepidation and concern. He decided that whoever this woman was, he was not afraid to kick her into next week if she made his boyfriend this nervous. Setting the boxes down on the table, Patrick held a hand out towards the other occupant. “Pete, this is my mother, Ginessa. Mother, this is my boyfriend.” There was a hint of something like defiance in his tone and Pete could feel his eyebrows rising towards his hairline as his eyes flicked between them. He could see Patrick in the shape of her eyes and the color of her hair--both had pale, pale skin but her eyes were a light blue color that somehow he found uncanny. His mind started to tumble into overdrive--had Patrick really just introduced him as his  _ boyfriend _ ? But...he wasn’t out to his family, to the Sagani, why--

 

“I see.” The cool blue eyes seemed to size him up, and Pete couldn’t help but feel like he was  _ lacking _ by the way her lips pursed. His heart clenched in familiar seizure of self-deprecation and he  _ really _ didn’t like that. Grabbing the chair, he sat and pulled the forks from his back pocket, distracting himself by searching for his beef chow mein. Shoveling a bite in his mouth, he looked up and noted Ginessa was still looking at him, that something was going on that he couldn’t hear or see and it made his skin crawl.

 

“Cool to finally meet you.” He smiled at her, deciding that two could play at this game. “If I had known, I’d have grabbed you some food too. They have a killer dahl.” 

 

“It was kinda a surprise to everyone…” Patrick muttered and he reached forward and grabbed the Lava Chicken. “Do you want the green bean one, mother? I can grab you a--”

 

“So this is how you are choosing to while away your time, my son?” Her eyes flicked to Pete but then latched back onto her son, who was getting paler by the second. “Is this merely to spite us, or are you simply searching for a distraction that will further denigrate your status as the Nerepolesi so we will not want you to lead?”

 

“Mother--”

 

“ _ Denigrate his status?”  _ Pete couldn’t hold back anymore, not when she was saying things like that, mother or not. “How can you say that? You’re his  _ mother _ aren’t you supposed to want him to be happy and not care about stupid power-plays and bullshit? He’s--”

 

“How charming.” Her tone was cold and brittle, slithering into his bones as she stared through him. “Your toy defends you.” Her eyes flicked over to bore into Patrick. “You’ve actually convinced this mortal that you are capable of loving him, but what will you do in seventy years when he withers away and dies, who will stand up for you then? Or perhaps you think we will so easily forget this dalliance in two hundred years when you have decided you want your people back?” 

 

“ _ Two hundred years?”  _ Pete felt laughter rising up in his throat as he frantically tried to not wonder what she meant by  _ capable of loving _ . “Right, because magical weather powers make you immortal.” 

 

Silence fell on the table and he was seized with a sinking feeling that he was  _ missing _ something, that there was some secret he didn’t know or a piece of the puzzle he didn’t have. His eyes darted between Ginessa, taking in the smug smile creeping with razor-sharp edges across her face, and Patrick, realizing his eyes were wide, jaw hanging slightly slack with something that looked like _ fear. _

 

“You haven’t told him.” Low, vibrating laughter fell from her lips, the sound devoid of merriment or glee but instead filled with derisive supremacy. It was the laugh the cat makes when it brings its paw down with lethal force on the mouse’s back, knowing it has won. 

 

“Told me what?” He turned in his chair and looks dead-on at Patrick, begging him to shake his head and smile, roll his eyes and tell him his mother is crazy. 

 

“Can we talk about it later, Pete? I--”

 

“ _ NO _ we will not talk about it later! What the hell does she mean, Patrick?” He could feel his voice rising, fear making his spine straighten and his hands grip the edge of the table. A resigned look settled on Patrick’s face, and he decided he hated that look.  _ His  _ Patrick was fiery, was defiant, would never take anything lying down like this…

 

“I... _ am  _ immortal Pete.” Patrick’s voice was low, like he was letting out a dirty secret that he had been hoping to hide forever. “I won’t ever die of natural causes.” 

 

He felt like he was spinning on one of those rides with the chairs attached to the circular platform with long chains, centripetal force anchoring him into his seat like cement. ” _ What _ ?” He gasped, just in time for another awful thought to hit him at a hundred miles and hour. “What else haven’t you told me?” His voice was high, strung up to a high octave in sudden fear and cloying distrust he had never felt before with Patrick. “Anything else you didn’t feel like letting me know?” Patrick opened his mouth and closed it again, eyes riveted on Pete like he was an oasis in the desert, like he was the cure for cancer. Pete brings his fist down on the table, half-shocked that he managed to remove it from his death-grip on the edge and half stunned at the noise in the silence. “ _ Is there anything else?”  _

 

“...Fuck, Pete.” Patrick’s eyes were squinted shut and he took a deep breath through his nose before opening them again, and he was terrified to see tears glimmering in them, petrified of what they meant. “I don’t have a soul.” 

 

The sudden sound of wood scraping across the floor echoed in the room as Pete jumped to his feet, his knees sending the chair backwards to catch on the peeling linoleum and tumble over with a clatter. “ _What?_ What the hell does that mean _?”_

 

“Nothing, it doesn’t mean  _ anything _ !” Patrick was standing now too, reaching for him but he was skittering away like a dog from the vacuum cleaner. “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t change how I feel about you, that I love you--”

 

“How can you  _ love me _ if you don’t have a soul? Do you even  _ have _ feelings, do you even  _ know what love is?!” _ Pete was backing away now, hands wrapped around his body like he was trying to hold his shattered dreams together. 

 

“ _ Yes _ , Pete  _ please,  _ I _ \--” _

 

“No. No, no, no, Patrick.” He was back in the doorway, his keys were in his pocket and he was seized by the sudden need to  _ flee _ , to  _ get out _ . His mind was screaming at him  _ it’s all been a lie, he really is too good to be true because he isn’t even real, he doesn’t even love you _ . He could feel himself shaking, any moment his teeth were going to start knocking together in the sudden icy chill of the kitchen, and suddenly Patrick’s occasional misfires with the weather weren’t cute any more. The rime of frost starting to grow over the fridge and the cupboards was no longer endearing...it screamed at him  _ LIAR. DIFFERENT. RUN.  _

 

And Pete ran. 

 

~//~

  
  


The kitchen was silent for a long moment, the only sound the door slamming shut and the revving of the car’s engine as Pete pulled out of the driveway. 

 

“It was for the best.” Ginessa soothed and Patrick dropped to a crouch, head falling to his knees as he let out a sound somewhere between a scream and a cry and a groan. Icicles shot out from him, shattering against the fridge, digging divots into the cupboards and embedding into the soft plaster of the ceiling. His mother held out a casual hand and Patrick’s chair turned into a thick bole of wood, the icicles burying themselves in it like a shield. 

 

“ _ Why do you have to do these things?”  _ He uncurled, standing and turning to her with hands clenched by his sides and tears streaming down his face. “Just because I don’t want to be like everyone else, why can’t you just let me live my life? I’m not  _ hurting  _ anyone!!”

 

“Patrick.” Her voice was chilly but held an edge of maternal compassion that had been previously absent. “I know you have always found it hard to settle into your place, but I know this is not what you want. You have such potential within you that you are letting slip between your fingers as you traipse through your sad little music store. I understand--”

 

“ _ No, mother.”  _ He made a chopping motion with his hand, cutting her off as his chest heaved with emotion. “You  _ don’t _ understand, you’ve  _ never _ understood. You have no idea how it feels to manifest late and feel like a failure, to think you have let your family down because you can’t summon anything more than a wisp of air and then find out that not only are you a freak, but you’re  _ THE _ freak. You’re the Nerepolesi with all these expectations and rules and standards that  _ I can’t live up to _ and that only made me more of a failure. Add to that I don’t fit into your perfect Sagani standard of finding a girl to impregnate because  _ I don’t want women _ and I’m the ultimate fuck up, I’m the ultimate disappointment and  _ I know that. _ So why can’t you just let me be a disappointment  _ away _ from our people, let me  _ live my life  _ the way  _ I need to _ ? _ ” _

 

“My child, you are only a disappointment in your own mind. I know you can be everything you were born to be, you are more than just your whims and your passions--”

 

“Pete is not just a whim, mother.” Patrick’s voice was steely, filled with the ice that had blown out of his heartbreak. “ _ This _ is my life,  _ this  _ is who I am. I’ve never rubbed it in your face or forced you to accept it, but you  _ will not _ just come here and turn everything I’ve built upside down.  _ You _ came  _ here _ . If you don’t like who I am or who I love, you can leave.”

 

For a long moment, they stared at each other--mother and son, Agrossi and Nerepolesi, the ancient and the modern. But then something flickered across Ginessa’s face, it could have been pain, it could have been pride, it could have been resignation. She bowed her head and stood with regal grace, before looking up at her son with antediluvian eyes that had seen the castles of Europe rise and fall. “Then perhaps time will change your mind. Until then, may the rain fall soft on you, my son.” 

 

“May the earth rise to meet you.” Grumbling back the customary response, Patrick added a low  _ don’t count on it _ under his breath as she sailed from the room with the effortless grace of a bygone era. He heard the door shut gently, and he let out a breath filled with a terrified, tremulous happiness and heart-wrenching fear. 

 

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialed Pete...only to have it go straight to voicemail. 

 

Over. And Over. And Over. 


	21. Chapter 21

“Well...that’s a plot twist for sure.” 

 

Patrick shot a furious glare at Joe from his huddle on the couch and flicked his fingers, a jet of water spiraling out to drench his friend, soaking his hair and making it hang limp around his shoulders. 

 

“Not helpful.” Andy glared at Joe, pushing down his hands when he brought them up to retaliate. “Patrick doesn’t want a literary analysis of his life right now.” 

 

“I know, I know, I was just trying to lighten the mood.” Joe groused, shaking his head and wringing some of the dripping moisture from his hair before giving Patrick a look. “I’m sorry we weren’t here when it happened dude...worst-timed camping trip ever. But, alright, so that was like six worst-case scenarios all wrapped into one. Sucks, but not the end of the world. Totally fixable.”

 

“You didn’t see his face.” Patrick mumbled, pulling another tissue from the box and dabbing at his eyes furiously. “He  _ ran away _ like I was a prey animal, he wouldn’t  _ listen _ and he won’t pick up his phone.” He tapped the screen again, a vain hope that he would have somehow missed a phone call or a text message from his boyfriend. “I’ve called him forty-seven times, I’ve sent six emails and like about twelve thousand texts. I fucking lost him.” Mournful blue eyes filled with tears, and Patrick buried himself back down in the couch. 

 

“No, you didn’t.” Andy came around and settled a gentle hand on his back. “Pete really loves you, you know that’s the truth. That’s the only reason he’s taking this so hard. Don’t you still have the key to his place?” 

 

“Yes…” Patrick mumbled, and Joe gave Andy an encouraging thumbs-up. 

 

“Well, it’s been three days. Tomorrow morning, take him coffee and a pastry from that place he likes over on twelfth and explain it to him.” 

 

“I’m such a fucking idiot.” Patrick moaned from under the blankets. “I  _ just  _ convinced myself it was going to be okay, that it didn’t matter. We were doing  _ so good _ ...and  _ she _ just had to come here and mess it all up.” 

 

“Dude.” Joe’s voice held the gentle edge of accusation that only best friends could use without causing pain. “It sucks how it happened and it’s totally unfair, but you know that this isn’t her fault.” Andy shot him a concerned glance, but Joe just shrugged and they waited with bated breath for Patrick to start it hailing on them. 

 

“I know.” He pulled his head out from under the blanket and looked at them both with heartbreak all over his face. “I  _ know _ this is…” Sighing as a tear slid down his cheek, he squinted them shut. “It’s my fault. I just want to  _ fix it _ . I need him.” He sounded pitiable and Andy patted his back awkwardly in sympathy. 

 

“You will.” He handed him another tissue. “I’m sure of it.” 

 

~//~

 

If there was one thing Pete Wentz was great at when he wanted to be, it was  _ moping. _ He had perfected it through his tumultuous teenage years, back when he used to rim his eyes with the blackest eyeliner and had long shaggy bangs that hid half his face. It had been several years since he had properly moped, listening to angry metal or curling up with his favorite hoodie and watching reality TV to find someone with problems worse than his own...or at least problems he could laugh at. But today, he was in rare style...sweatpants and an ancient hoodie he had stolen from his brother a long time ago (fucker just had to grow up way bigger than he ever did) and a packet of Double Stuff Oreos. 

 

He looked up as someone knocked at his front door, but he didn’t get up, returning his eyes to the TV. It was probably one of those Mormons who wanted to tell him how to find happiness in seven easy steps.  _ Joke’s on them, _ he thought morosely _ , it only takes one easy step called Patrick...until you find out he’s lied to you about being fucking immortal and the tiny, infinitesimally unimportant detail that he doesn’t have a goddamn soul. _

 

The door handle jangled and he looked up, trying to decide if it was worth the effort to run to his bedroom and get the bat he kept under the bed.  _ Yeah, no _ . He resolutely looked back at the screen. If he was going to die, maybe the intruder would at least let him find out who won this round of  _ Dancing With the Stars  _ first.

 

“Pete?” 

 

Head snapping to the side so fast Pete swore he heard his neck crack a few times, he looked up to see his boyfriend’s head poking through the door.  _ Is he your boyfriend still? _ His brain taunted and he felt fury bubble up inside him like a lava lamp filled with acid. 

 

“What are you doing here?  _ Get out!”  _ He tried to untangle himself from the mass of blankets, but Patrick was faster, pushing in and shutting the door behind him. He held up a cup of what smelled like coffee and a white paper bag in front of him like a shield. 

 

“Pete,  _ please _ .” He walked forward slowly and settled the items on the coffee table. “I got you a chocolate croissant from that place you like...just eat it and drink your coffee and let me explain?” 

 

Eyeing the bag, Pete felt his stomach rumble appreciatively. “Fine. You have until I finish this.” He pulled the buttery, flaky pile of goodness from the bag and bit in, giving Patrick what he hoped was a formidable glare.  Patrick wrapped his fingers around his own cup of coffee like he was drawing strength from its warmth and nodded miserably.

 

“I think it’s obvious I wasn’t planning on anything that happened. My mom...I guess she heard about you from Cindy, that girl at my birthday party? And she just showed up, I had no idea she’d do that. She’s never come and visited me before.” He took a sip and looked up at Pete with wide eyes filled with sorrow.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about…” He waved his hand like it would help him find the words. “The whole immortality thing and about not having a soul. I was going to tell you that night here, that’s why I was so nervous but then you--and I--” He waved his hand again before clenching it into a fist and dropping it to his knee. “Everything was just so  _ good _ and I was afraid you’d freak out and I didn’t want to lose you.” His eyes were starting to shine with unshed tears and Pete  _ wanted _ to feel bad,  _ wanted _ to forgive Patrick but...just couldn’t. 

 

“So you thought dating me for the last ten months was a great plan, nevermind that you’re  _ immortal _ and aren’t ever going to die? What the fuck did you think I was going to do, I didn’t lose my shit when you told me you could  _ control the weather _ , so why wouldn’t you tell me that?” Stuffing another bite in his mouth, he chewed his croissant and glared.

 

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, I’m  _ so sorry.” _ Patrick spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “There were so many times I was about to say something and I just...I was afraid.”

 

“You think I wasn’t afraid to tell you about my bipolar? Do you know how many people have left me over that shit?” He knew his voice was rising, he knew he was yelling but he didn’t care.  “Do you know how hard it was to call you that morning I was on the porch, ‘cause I was afraid you’d freak out and decide I was too much? That you wouldn't want a boyfriend who was half-way certifiable?” He realized they were both standing now, facing off over the coffee table.

 

“No, Pete,  _ no _ there’s no world where I don’t want you.” Patrick came around and gently pressed him down to the couch, sitting on the coffee table so their knees knocked together. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I’m telling you now.”

 

“Right, no. That cat got out of the bag three days ago--”

 

“No,  _ listen _ \--that isn’t all of it. Yes, I’m immortal, and yes, I don’t technically have a soul.” Patrick reached out and took his hand and Pete couldn’t help but let him, couldn’t help but love the solid warmth of his palm pressed against his own. “But...you changed all that for me. We...if a Sagani chooses to tie themselves to a mortal, they lose their immortality in exchange for a soul. I--” He looked down at their clasped hands. “That’s what you are for me. You’re my soul.” 

 

The room was quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioner rattling in the window as Pete stared at him, all of it swirling in his head like a sparkling, terrifying explosion of questions and fears and confusion until it hardened, settling in his stomach like a lead weight. 

 

“Get out.” The words tasted like bile, like heartbreak. He pulled his hand from Patrick’s and pushed away, scrambling off the couch and towards the door. 

 

“Pete--”

 

“ _ NO!”  _ He pressed his fists to his eyes, screaming in his head  _ I will not fucking cry _ ! and turned around, bringing his clenched hands to shake at his sides. “You think that’s going to make it better, that  _ now _ you tell me the truth? Patrick, I’m fucking--how do I know you ever would have told me? What if your mom never showed up, you would have kept making excuses forever until…” He gasped, a sound like a sob rising from his lungs and he couldn’t help it, so instead he tried to laugh--a broken, hiccuping sound full of all the darkness and self-loathing that was thundering through him. “You know how I know this is all bullshit, that this  _ thing _ between us is  _ fucking bullshit? _ Because I  _ sure as hell _ know nobody would give up immortality for me.” 

 

Grabbing the door handle, he yanked it open and turned back, hand held out expectantly. “Give me my key.” Patrick’s face was pale, drained of all color, and it should have broken his heart, it should have made want to run and kiss the blood back into his cheeks...but instead all he felt was  _ loss _ . Searing, screaming loss that danced with the devil until his heart drained out with his lifeblood. 

 

“Pete…” Patrick breathed, hands clasped shaking to his chest like he was praying, and Pete’s mind couldn’t help but note how hypocritical that was for a being without a soul. “Please, Pete,  _ please--” _

 

“ _ GET OUT!” _ He screamed, tears starting to course down his cheeks and he hated himself for it, hated Patrick for doing this to him, hated the sun for still shining and the birds for still singing. Jumping in shock, Patrick stumbled forward and out the door, his hands shaking as he dug into his pocket and held out the key knotted into a red piece of yarn strung with a yellow straw clipping. Pete took it, and his breath hitched as his fingers brushed Patrick’s palm, his mind flashing through his hands running soothingly through his hair when he had a nightmare, his hand slipping into his as they walked Hemmy…

 

He slammed the door, sinking down against it before giving himself over to his broken heart.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Yanked from a delightful nap where he was playing bass on the International Space Station with Green Day, Pete looked up and glared at his front door blearily.  _ Someone  _ was banging on it without missing a beat, and only one person could carry a consistent line like that…

 

“I took your key for a reason fucker, I don’t want to talk to you!” The knocking continued and he growled in frustration. “Go the fuck away, Patrick.” He heard a garbled voice on the other side say something he couldn’t hear and didn’t care about, but just before he reached the remote to turn the TV on and drown Patrick out, a clinking, metallic noise stopped him. He looked over at the door to see the letter slot open and  _ flames _ started to shoot through it.  _ Oh. So not Patrick. _ He thought belatedly and got up, padding to the door. “Okay, okay! Quit it so I can let you in without getting barbequed!” The flames stopped and he grabbed the door handle to gingerly pull it open. 

 

“Hey dude.” Joe was standing on his doorstep, grinning and holding a box of pizza. “Hungry?” 

 

“Umm…” 

 

“I got tired of one-word answers to my texts, so I figured some pizza would help.” Picking up a six-pack of beers, Joe pushed past him and headed to the living room as Pete shut the door. “And nobody at home likes IPAs and I heard this one was really good so I grabbed some since you’re the only one with fucking taste.” 

 

Unsure when he had so completely lost control of the situation, Pete sat down on the couch and took the offered slice of pizza--chicken, white sauce and spinach, Joe’s favorite--and sipped the beer that was suddenly in his hand. “Ummm…”

 

Joe cocked an eyebrow. “You see that new Iron Man flick yet?” Shaking his head, Pete took a bite and sighed in happiness...he had called into work sick in the week and a half since the explosion, and had eaten his last package of pop tarts that morning. Taking the silence as an invitation to continue, Joe made a face. “I went and saw it yesterday with Marie, it was super stupid. They had Pepper become some sort of like electrified X-men science hybrid? Super dumb. I still think the second one with the Mandarin was the worst, but it was still no bueno.” 

 

“With Marie, huh?” Pete couldn’t help but smile, happy that they were talking about anything other than the implosion of the most important relationship of his life. “How’s that going?”

 

A dreamy smile flitting across his lips, Joe sighed. “Dude, I think she’s the one. She’s so fuckin’ beautiful and did you know she can play a twelve-string? I think that makes her the coolest girl in the world. Seriously, like...yeah.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll like...dress up in a suit and ask your permission if I decide pop the question.” 

 

Laughing, Pete took another piece. “I expect you to be properly terrified when that happens. She’s like my little sister so I get to defend her honor.” Joe nodded as he chewed on his crust, washing it down with a long swig of beer. 

 

“What do you think of the IPA? It’s by this brewery in Oregon? Rogue?” 

 

“Really fucking good.” Pete grinned and took another drink himself. “Definitely got that citrus-y thing going on.” He stared at the bottle as something nagged in his brain, wriggling around until he felt like he would jitter out of his skin if he didn’t ask. “Joe, how…” He scratched the back of his neck, trying to find a way to say it. “You’d really give up living forever for Marie?”

 

With a sigh, Joe sat back and gave him a long, level look. “Yeah, I think I would.” He cocked an eyebrow. “But you’re not really asking about me, are you?” Miserably, Pete shook his head and took another bite, but it suddenly tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He was grateful that Joe hadn’t just started lecturing him, had given him the chance to just be a  _ person _ for five minutes...but this was what it kept coming back to. This is what had spun through his head for every waking moment of the last ten days. 

 

“Look buddy...I know it didn’t go so hot when he came over and talked to you, and for the record he doesn’t even know I’m here.” Joe pushed a wayward curl from his face and tucked it behind his ear. “And believe it or not, I’m not just here to talk you back just for him, Andy and I really fucking miss having you around. ” Hemmy decided to peel himself off the cool kitchen floor and lumbered over to climb on the couch next to Pete, eyes mournfully begging for a piece of the pizza. Stroking his back, Pete broke off a piece and fed it to him. 

 

“I miss you guys too. I just...how could he not tell me about it?” He swallowed past the lump in his throat and Joe shrugged. 

 

“He wanted to. I kid you not, I had to sit through about fifteen Patrick Stump Freakout Sessions and talk him down from running away to Zimbabwe or something. He was terrified you’d think he only wanted you for your soul like he was a weird vampire or something, and he was scared that you wouldn’t want him because of it.” He took another bite, chewing messily. “I told him to just tell you he liked you, explain the soul thing and go from there...but obviously he didn’t. I think he was afraid you’d reject him just like everyone else he’s ever loved.” 

 

“You guys didn’t.” Pete noted, scratching behind Hemmy’s ear. 

 

“Yeah but that’s ‘cause we’re the same as him, and trust me, it took Patrick a long time to come to the realization he actually deserved to live his life the way he wanted rather than to try to fulfil some bullshit Sagani cultural norm.” He laid his head back on the chair and tucked his feet up. “Granted, I didn’t grow up with him, but from what Andy has told me, he was a real sensitive kid. He would hide behind the school and cry every time someone made fun of him or told him he was a freak because the Nerepolesi shouldn’t be pathetic like him.” Pete felt his heart constrict, imagining Patrick sobbing out his heartbreak alone. “Did he ever tell you about Angelo?” 

 

“No?” 

 

Lips pressed into a line, Joe hummed. “Patrick dated him for like...six months right after we all moved into the house. He never told him about, you know the whole Elemental thing,  but he fell fucking  _ hard _ for the guy. They went to a show together and he like, walked in on some girl making out with him in the bathroom on a break. Broke his heart, and Angelo tried to blame it on him, told him it was ‘cause he was too boring.” Pete made an indignant noise and Joe nodded. “Yeah...he’s always been not quite good enough, you know? I think he was afraid you’d find something wrong with him too, and he didn’t want to give you a reason to leave.” 

 

Nodding, Pete sighed. “I get that, I really do. I mean...I wouldn’t have freaked out that bad and I wouldn’t have like left him if he would have just told me himself. But I just...I feel like I can’t trust him. Like, this is kinda  _ huge _ .” 

 

“Yeah, but you have to remember.” Joe made a face. “We’re fucking Sagani. Most of us don’t  _ ever _ even want to get married to anyone outside, and for Patrick to seriously want that with you is kinda a big deal. It goes against everything he was raised to think, but he still wants it.” Pete started to argue, but Joe held up a hand. “No bro, listen to me for a second. You know what Patrick freaked out about the most? Not if you would freak, but he was terrified if he even  _ could _ deserve you. He was afraid he couldn’t give you what you needed, that he was like cheating you by asking you to be with him.” 

 

Pete was silent for a long while, looking down at the piece of pizza laying in his hand forgotten, that Hemmy had started licking and nibbling at. “Really?” 

 

His eyes were filled with kindness when Joe nodded. “Yeah, really. He told me you said you weren’t worth giving immortality up for...and bro, you’ve got it all backwards. He’s afraid he’ll give it up and get a soul and  _ still _ not be good enough for you.” 

 

Tears prickled in his eyes at Joe’s words and Pete sternly ordered himself not to cry. His voice still came out a bit cracked, but Joe was kind enough not to comment on it. “Fuck, dude.” 

 

Cracking the cap off another beer, Joe handed it to him and sat back, taking out another for himself. “Look, I get that it was messed up he didn’t tell you, and I’ll help you paint an angry picture if that’ll make you feel better and take it to him. Or toilet-paper his car, whatever.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “But you’re really good for him, and I think he’s good for you. I’ve never seen him calm down like he does with you, and you know I caught him singing fucking Taylor Swift one morning in the shower like a teenage girl.” They both laughed at that, and Pete couldn’t help the way his stomach twisted at the thought of Patrick singing love songs about him. 

 

“I still love him.” He slumped back on the couch cushions, head flopping back. “At least, I think I do when I run out of being angry at him.” 

 

“Hey, that’s how I feel about him too sometimes. Remember that time he almost fried my ass off in the shower when you two were arguing about something?” 

 

Pete smiled and nodded. “That was hysterical.” 

 

“For  _ you _ , asshole, but I definitely didn’t love him at that exact moment.” Joe gave him a look full of something like bro-love, something like desperation. “And umm...not to be too selfish, but you guys fighting like this is wreaking havoc on the delicate ecosystem that is our house. He’s been so upset his powers have been going haywire. He’s boiled all the water out of Andy’s flower vases, drowned the tomato plants twice--and you  _ know _ how Andy feels about his tomatoes--and I literally busted my ass one morning getting out of bed because he had frozen all the floors with like an inch of ice.” He shook his head. “Plus it’s been fucking raining over Evanston for the last five days. I’m pretty sure the Mayor is close to calling in the National Guard cause it’s flooding so bad.” Pete couldn’t help but snort at that and Joe gave him a look. “You have no idea how much it’s messing with my blood pressure dude, he fucking shot icicles at me the last time I played  _ The Offspring _ . I know it’s weird and messed up and I’m not gonna lie and tell you being with someone who can freeze you into a block of ice is gonna be easy but...he loves you dude. He told me you’re the only person who makes him feel like he belongs.” 

 

The tears were back and pricking at his eyes again, and Pete sighed, feeling some of his anger melt away. He looked up at Joe and gave him a smile that he thought was  _ real _ for the first time since he walked into the kitchen ten days ago. “You know, I always thought Andy was the one that was the best at this kinda talk-about-your-feelings thing, but you’re not too shabby.” 

 

Joe let out a laugh. “No, he’s way better at this than I am, but we decided to save the the big guns in case you didn’t listen to me.”

 

“Smart.” Pete took a slice from the box, his mind drifting back to the night that he had asked Patrick to be his boyfriend, eating pizza here just like this. He remembered how Patrick had kept trying to stop him, telling him he had to tell him something...he had dismissed it at the time as self-consciousness or something equally ridiculous, but now he saw it in a new light. Eyes flicking up to Joe, who was looking at him expectantly, he smiled. “Give me like a day or two to finish being angry and figure out what I’m going to say and...okay.” 

 

Letting out a yowl that sounded half like a wolf and half like one of those stupid yellow minions, Joe pumped the air with his fist. “Hell yeah!” Leaning forward, he held out his beer. “Here’s to no more icicles on the ceiling and the end of World War Patrick!” 

 

Unable to hold back a laugh, Pete leaned forward and clinked the necks of their beers. 


	23. Chapter 23

Parking in front of the house, rather than in the driveway in case this went horribly and he needed a fast getaway, Pete took a deep breath.  _ You can do this,  _ he mentally chided himself as he walked gingerly up the front steps and knocked, his stomach feeling like he had swallowed a blender. 

 

“ _ Brooo.”  _ Joe’s wide grin greeted him when he opened the door, holding his fist out for Pete to bump. “Fuck yeah, you’re the man.” He took the cup in Pete’s hand as he shook off and deposited his raincoat on the hook and removed his wet shoes, then they both went into the kitchen. Andy looked up from where he was intently typing on his computer, and a smile bloomed across his face. 

 

“Oh thank fuck.” He spun the laptop around. “I was just looking for how to build a temporary greenhouse to save my plants from all this heartbreak-rain.” Pete laughed quietly and took the cup back from Joe. 

 

“Yeah, well...don’t burn your raincoats yet. Still gotta actually, you know.” 

 

Nodding, Andy gave Joe a look and stood. “You’ll do great, seriously. We’ll go like...get pizza and hole up at Jake’s house until you give us the all clear.” 

 

“You know.” Joe gave him a shit-eating grin. “So you guys can make up as loud as you want.”

 

“I’ll even lift my ban of fucking on the couch if it’ll save my herb garden.” Andy grumbled and Pete rolled his eyes. 

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, assholes.” But he still gave them both a hug as they headed out the door into the rain. His phone buzzed a second later and he opened it up when he saw a text from Joe. 

 

_ <<He’s in his room. Text me when it’s safe to come back.>> _

  
Responding with a thumbs-up, Pete looked at the notes app on his phone where he had written down the main points of what he was planning to say.  _ You can do this _ , _ just don’t get angry. _ His mind flashed back to the look on Patrick’s face when he had yelled at his apartment and he took a deep breath and started upstairs. 

 

There was frost riming Patrick’s bedroom door, and he had to throw his shoulder against it to crack the layer of ice around the frame. He pushed it open and gaped at the blast of cold air that hit him as the door swung open. 

 

“Go away.” There was a pitiable sniffle from the mound of blankets on the bed, and Pete sighed. 

 

“You’re going to freeze your hot chocolate if you keep that up.” 

 

The words were barely out of his mouth when Patrick shot up like he had been shocked with an electric current. His mouth hung open, the remnants of tears shining on his cheeks. “Pete?” 

 

“Yeah, umm...can you like melt some of this so I can make it over there? I didn’t bring my ice skates.” He looked down at the floor pointedly, and Patrick nodded frantically, circling his hands and the ice shrank away to the edges of the room. Gingerly, Pete stepped over the protesting floorboards and sat down at the end of the bed, holding the paper cup out like a shield. 

 

Patrick took it--careful not to let their fingers brush, he noticed--and looked at him with wide eyes. “Thank you.” He whispered, and Pete nodded. 

 

“You’re welcome.” He smoothed out a wrinkle on the blanket he was sitting on, wishing belatedly he’d gotten himself something to drink even just for something to do with his hands. He looked up to see Patrick hadn’t moved, the cup clutched in his hands like it was a life raft in the middle of the open ocean, and he sighed. “So...Joe might have come over and talked to me over some pizza and beer. That guy knows the way to my heart is a good IPA.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, sighing and thinking back to his shitty notes and shivered. “Umm...can you like, warm it up? I don’t mean to be high maintenance but I’m fucking freezing.” 

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Patrick set the hot chocolate on his nightstand (which was covered in a layer of frost) and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. Gradually, the chill left the air, and Pete could see the ice melting and turning into fog. He opened his eyes and went to the window, opening it and making a twisting motion with his hands as he funneled all the water vapor out. Shutting it, he came back and sat on the bed, pulling the blankets up to his knees. 

 

“Thanks, I was starting to lose feeling in my nose.” Patrick nodded miserably, looking like a stork bobbing its head and Pete decided to just grab the bull by the horns. “Alright, so...look. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking...and moping and crying and cussing, but that’s beside the point. You should have told me about this whole no-soul, immortality thing you have going on. I get that you were afraid to tell me cause it is kinda a big thing to break to somebody.” Patrick glanced up at him from where his eyes had been riveted to his hands, full of tears, and Pete forced himself to say what was next and not just pull him into a hug.

 

“And you know, here’s the thing. Yeah, I was upset because you didn’t tell me. It wasn’t honest and it wasn’t right. But I realized the bigger reason for me being so hurt and angry was because...you didn’t trust me to handle it. I thought I meant more to you, I thought that you believed in me and that you thought I was okay. For you to not tell me because you were afraid of what I’d do...that kinda made me question if we really even had a relationship at all. It made me kinda question if I really was crazy to make you think that of me, and I don’t like self-examination like that.” 

 

“Pete, I--”

 

“No, lemme get this out.” Pete wiped his hand over his face. “I’m not going to yell like I did last time, I know I freaked you out and I’m sorry.” Patrick nodded and he took that as an indication to keep going. “But look, I was upset over it all ‘cause this kinda hit me right in the stuff I’m not good with, stuff I know is kinda broken about me. But Joe kinda helped me realize that you had a reason for not telling me beyond thinking I was a crazy loser...and I get it. I get that you feel like you fall just an inch too short for everyone, and that you’re never quite good enough and you felt like this was going to push me over the edge into deciding I didn’t want to be with you.” 

 

Tears were shining in Patrick’s eyes as he stared, his bottom lip trembling even though he was pressing them together, and Pete sighed, realizing how exhausting this was, how much he really just wanted to get back to being happy. “So...now I know. You’re immortal and you don’t have a soul.” Patrick took in a shuddering breath, tears spilling over onto his cheeks as Pete reached forward to take his hand. “And I love you, Patrick Stumph. I love you for your pissiness and your ridiculous inability to function before ten o’clock, and the fact that you refuse to admit you’re horribly wrong about Metallica’s greatest album. Even for all that, I’m still here. I want to be with you, but that means we gotta trust each other, with  _ everything _ .” He looked down at their hands and took a deep breath. “So...I guess what I’m asking is do you want that? Because the answer for me is yes, ‘cause as mad as I was at you...I can’t imagine this stupid thing called life without you.” 

 

There was a moment of pregnant silence as Patrick stared at him with tears spilling down his cheeks, his mouth working but no sound coming out. Finally, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “ _ Yes, _ I swear I trust you, Pete and  _ God _ I love you so much.”

 

He tugged Patrick’s hand and before he even saw him move, he had a lap-full of sobbing boyfriend, presing his face into Pete’s neck and gasping out broken  _ I’m sorry I’m so so so sorry, I love you’s _ . Wrapping his arms around him, Pete just held him tight, rubbing his back soothingly and making soft, comforting noises. Eventually, he calmed down and Pete pulled back a bit to look him in the eyes. 

 

“No more secrets, okay?”

 

Patrick nodded violently, biting his lip as he wiped his sleeve across his face. “Never, never again, I promise.” 

 

Smiling, Pete pressed a kiss to his cheek and Patrick turned his head and caught his lips with his own, sealing them together in a desperate kiss full of apologies and longing.  Pete shifted, moving back on the bed and rolling Patrick down on his back, never breaking contact. Their hot chocolate cooled forgotten on the nightstand as clothes fell away, hands stroked and clenched, eyes were scrunched closed in pleasure and wide-open in ecstasy. He pushed into him, slick and hot and  _ oh God so perfect _ and Patrick keened, crying out against his mouth as he kissed him and kissed him and  _ kissed him _ . Creamy thighs wrapped around his waist and Patrick was urging him closer and closer, gasping into his mouth as Pete took him in hand, pumping roughly in time with his thrusts. Suddenly, he was desperate to make him come, to push him over that edge and watch him tumble down in a spiraling flight. He was shaking, body begging him to  _ let go _ but he resisted, he held on with every ounce of willpower, watching as Patrick began to shake, as his head thrashed from side to side and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. 

 

“That’s it, let go,  _ come on _ baby, come for me…” Pete pressed his lips to Patrick’s ear, whispering even though he could have shouted it, begging, commanding, pleading, he didn’t know or care which it was. Patrick’s eyes squeezed shut and he threw his head back and gasped out something that sounded suspiciously like his name, surrounded by gasping cries as he came trembling and shuddering. Pete saw stars as he tumbled down the chasm, releasing into him with a gasp as he reveled in the way Patrick’s body was clenching and relaxing under him. 

 

Falling off him with an undignified grunt, Pete flopped to his back, expecting Patrick to stay where he was-- _ he _ was the cuddler, after all. But instead his boyfriend--his heart thumped an extra time realizing he could say that again--curled into him, burying his face in Pete’s neck, gasping breath hot against his skin. He wrapped his arms and legs around him, clinging like a limpet and Pete had a ridiculous flash of immaturity wondering if this was opposite week, but then he felt the hot wetness of tears mingling with where Patrick was pressing his lips gently to his neck. 

 

“Hey, hey.” Murmuring, he tried to pull away but Patrick stuck to him, face pressed resolutely to him like a bashful vine. “Babe, look at me.” Patrick merely mumbled a soft  _ no _ , sniffling a little as his hand came up to slide under Pete’s neck and cradle him close. Deciding to let it be, Pete just pulled him closer and smoothed his hair out of his face from where it was currently trying to invade his right nostril. Soft lips pressed to his neck, shoulder, collarbone and he couldn’t help the way he shivered with it. Closing his eyes as the emotions of the last ten days all seemed to crash down on him, he drifted...contented and sated with the warm weight of his favorite not-quite-human plastered around him. Dimly he heard Patrick mumbling soft  _ I love you’s  _ and  _ I’m so sorry’s _ between gentle pressings of his lips to flesh, and something possessive and protective curled around his heart as he realized this was  _ his _ again and he  _ never _ wanted to lose it.

 

“Babe?” He whispered and Patrick only pulled tighter, like he afraid he was going to melt away or decide he wasn’t going to forgive him after all. “Patrick, babe, look at me.” A few moments of wriggling and grunting later he had his face cradled in his hands, even as Patrick struggled to curl back into him. “Hey, it’s over, okay? I love you and I’m not...I’m not going anywhere.” Seashore eyes filled with tears as they met his, and Patrick nodded. 

 

“I know...I just…” Tears slid from his eyes and Pete wiped them away with his thumbs. “I just feel like such an idiot, like I don’t  _ deserve _ this back.” 

 

“You deserve everything.” Pete breathed, heart aching as he heard the years of feeling inadequate in Patrick’s voice as his thumb kept caressing the perfect roundness of his cheek. “Listen to me, I--” He looked down, suddenly feeling unsure of how he was going to say what was in his heart. “I don’t quite get all this stuff about  _ tying yourself to a mortal _ and all...but I’d never ask you to give up living forever for me. I--”

 

“ _ No _ .” Patrick shook his head, pushing up so he could look down at Pete, a frown creasing his forehead, lips pressed together. “No, I--you--” Shaking his head he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, they looked clearer and decided. “As I’m sure you figured out from my mother, most Sagani don’t  _ want _ that, they  _ want _ to just...drift through life without lasting connections. I’ve  _ never _ wanted that, I…” He shook his head. “I just never wanted an endless life that was just  _ me,  _ and I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, but…” He took Pete’s hand and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I meant it when I said you’re my soul, and I  _ want _ a life with you. It’s not...giving up immortality to gain a soul, to gain  _ you _ ...I don’t look at any of those things as a  _ loss _ . They’re  _ all _ gains in my book.” 

 

A ridiculous urge to scrabble around for anything he could twist to vaguely resemble a ring and propose to Patrick hit him like a gust of wind, but Pete pushed it down. There would be time for that later, when they  _ hadn’t  _ just gotten through one of the worst fights he’d ever had with a significant other. Instead he just pulled him down and murmured  _ I love you _ against his lips, one hand twisting into the fine hair at the back of his neck, the other pressed to his chest where he could feel his heart pounding out the same steady beat of  _ mine, yours, together.  _


	24. Epilogue

“I don’t know why you’ve never done this before, I swear.” Pete gasped out as he took another bite, not caring even a little that the cheese was  _ kinda _ the same temperature as molten lava. “It’s seriously the best fucking thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. Well,” He wiggled his eyebrows in a gesture that was meant to be vaguely sexual but probably just looked ridiculous. “Okay, not  _ the best _ thing, cause I think we all know that’s your--”

 

“I swear to God if you propose coating my cock in garlic and cheese I’ll beat you with the rolling pin, and  _ not _ in the sexy way.” Patrick laughed through the mock-anger he was unsuccessfully trying to project, and blew delicately on his slice. They were sitting in the kitchen, with something that looked like a close-approximation of a tablecloth on spread over the battered wood table and candles lighting the room with a downright  _ romantic _ glow. 

 

Originally, he had wanted to go all out on the one-year anniversary celebrations--the romantic in him had blabbed all kinds of ideas at Patrick one night as they fell asleep--ranging from champagne in a hot air balloon to renting an island in the Carribean for a week. In the end, though, he had decided on something he thought was  _ way  _ better...but also included Patrick making homemade pizza at the house they had all to themselves. He had  _ plans _ for the rest of the night (yes, of course that included sex, he wasn’t a  _ total _ old married fart yet), but while he thought they were plenty romantic, they also didn’t involve releasing a hundred doves or skywriting. 

 

Clearing his throat, Patrick looked down and fumbled with the sleeves of his sweater. Pete had tried to convince him to dress up, but had been firmly slapped down with a roll of blue eyes and a huffed  _ I’m going to be making pizza, Pete, I’m not doing that in a damn tuxedo.  _ Either way, he was pretty sure Patrick looked like the picture of a Greek God, if they had cinnamon-colored hair and fancied cardigans. His elegant hand cupped the wine glass and held it out. “To the best year with the world’s best boyfriend.” 

 

“To everything I’ll ever want and a thousand times more.” Pete grinned and clinked the delicate bell of scarlet liquid against his. They sipped the wine--something fancy that Marie had been raving to him about and was planning to take Joe to on a vineyard trip to see--and he felt something shift as Patrick pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket. He fiddled with the edges, smoothing one of the many wrinkles it had acquired from being mashed in his pocket, before looking up at Pete with wide eyes. 

 

“I...I wasn’t sure what to get you. I mean, I know there’s a ton of things I  _ could _ have gotten, but it just didn’t feel right to get you  _ Master of Puppets _ on vinyl or something. Not after...you know.” He held out the tiny cloth packet and Pete reached for it--it was strangely weighty for something it’s size. Unfolding the corners, he pulled a brass key strung on an orange ribbon and shot Patrick a look. 

 

“It’s to the front door. I talked it over with Andy and Joe and I know you’re lease is up in a month and…” Patrick gave him a soft smile that was full of hope and tentative excitement. “I wanted to see if you wanted to move in with us. With me.” 

 

He was pretty sure his eyes were the size of saucers and his mouth was hanging open as the idea of it struck him--waking up next to Patrick every morning, a soft lump of anger and sleepy grumblings, of putting his records on the shelf next to his collection, of his clothes smelling of the lavender laundry sheets Patrick liked…

 

“Really? Like, you really want me to--” He held up the key and waved it between them, like that was all the explanation he needed. “Really?” 

 

“Yes, really.” Patrick’s smile was wide and happy and it made his heart flip-flop like a fish on the shore. 

 

“Oh my God,  _ babe _ .” Pete tumbled out of his chair and ran around the table to wrap Patrick in an awkward, half-in-the-chair hug and pressed a kiss to his neck. “Yes, yes, yes,  _ ohmygod…” _

 

Patrick’s laughter was interrupted by his phone making an obnoxious noise that made his brain jolt back to  _ The Plan _ and excitement skitter down his spine. He unwrapped himself and pulled it from his pocket, seeing the message from Marie and skittered backwards, trying not to cackle. 

 

“I’m sorry, horrible timing but--just stay here, okay?” Ignoring Patrick’s scowl, he scampered to the front door and slid through, shutting it behind him. His heart  _ thump-thumped _ as he realized it was going to be  _ his  _ house too in a few short weeks, but he pushed that away as he saw Marie pulling a large box from the passenger seat of the car. 

 

“Marie’s Perfect Anniversaries, at your service.” She smiled as he took it from her, and cocked her head. “Did he give you your present yet?” 

 

“Yes, oh my God I can’t believe it--” 

 

She laughed. “Yeah, Joe told me about it. Said he is going to have to invest in some of those noise-cancelling headphones.” Going up on her tiptoes, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Go knock ‘em dead, tiger.” 

 

“You’re the best.” Pete replied, laughing back at her smug  _ I know _ and heading back into the house, cradling the box and trying to keep from jostling it. Kicking the front door closed, he walked slowly back into the kitchen, where a slightly-less-cheerful Patrick was sitting with arms folded. 

 

“Uhh...Pete, what--”

 

Setting the box down carefully next to the empty pizza stone, Patrick moved the candles to the far end of the table and smoothed the bow that Marie must have tied on top. “I...you just…” Shrugging and flailing his hands, he gestured theatrically. “Oh just open it and see.” 

 

Looking like he was defusing a ticking bomb rather than opening his anniversary gift, Patrick pulled the ribbon and jostled the box as he pulled it from around the lid. A small noise came from inside, and he shot Pete a questioning look as he pulled the lid off…

 

“ _ Oh my God… _ ” The confusion on Patrick’s face melted away, replaced by a million-watt smile, cooing noises falling from his lips as he pulled the tiny black puppy from the box, cradling it against his chest as it sniffed at him, pink tongue flicking out to lick his fingers. “Pete, what--”

 

“Happy Anniversary, babe.” He felt like his face was going to split in half as he smiled at the way Patrick was looking at the puppy, murmuring to it as he scratched the curly hair on it’s head. His fingers settled on the collar and found the small dogbone-shaped tag. 

 

“Noodles?” He looked up at Pete in confusion, and he shrugged. 

 

“You can totally change it, but I had to give him a name when I got him, and since we kinda owe all this--” he waved his hand to encompass the pizza, the house, the anniversary and the totality of their relationship--”to  _ The Offspring,  _ I figured naming him after the lead singer was a good start.” He looked down at his shoes for a moment before meeting Patrick’s eyes again. “I just wanted you to have someone, after Molly, and I figured if we could raise a dog together it’s a good sign, right?” 

 

Patrick’s eyes were soft as he moved around the table to pull Pete close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as he murmured  _ thank you _ . Noodles yapped between them when Pete tried to pull him closer, hands cupping his cheeks and they broke away, laughing. 

 

“How about we take him on a walk down by the river under the stars.” A short, silvery laugh fell from Patrick’s lips as he nodded. 

 

“There’s the Pete Wentz I know and love...always a romantic.” 

 

“It’s easy with you, babe.” Pete pulled a leash from the box--black with tiny skull-and-crossbones and attached it to the collar. Shaking his head but grinning, Patrick made a comment about punk never dying and they headed out, Pete running back in to blow out the candles before joining Patrick on the porch. His lips tucked in a smile as he locked the door behind them with the key strung on the orange ribbon, sliding it into his pocket as he took Patrick’s hand. A breeze ruffled the trees and Noodles looked around suspiciously, but Pete just smiled at his boyfriend, who laughed as the clouds melted away and the stars came out. 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for "Perfect Boys with Their Perfect Lives" by flames_and_jade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12317622) by [solikethesea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solikethesea/pseuds/solikethesea)




End file.
